Youthful Mistakes
by KnightMara
Summary: Set during Luke's teenage years, this story shows how simple mistakes and misunderstandings can have severe consequences.
1. Part 1

A/N This story was posted a long time ago, but it was posted in several different parts. I've now grouped all four parts of this story under one title, making it a single story in four chapters. I may develop it further at a later date, but who knows.  
  
Youthful Mistakes, Part 1  
  
By KnightMara  
  
"Hey, I think he's starting to wake up."  
  
"Luke? Luke, can you hear me?"  
  
"Come on, Wormie, wake up."  
  
The voices tumbled over one another as Luke slowly regained awareness. He could feel hard ground beneath his back, and there was an incessant throbbing in his head and a slight stinging sensation across various parts of his body. Tentatively he opened his eyes and then quickly shut them again as the glare from two suns overhead relentlessly washed over him.  
  
"Luke, open your eyes and look at me."  
  
Obeying the command of the familiar voice, Luke blinked his eyes open once more. Someone had thankfully blocked out the glare, and he tried to focus on the two faces that danced in front of him.  
  
"There we go. He's coming around."  
  
Luke painfully managed to focus in on the rightmost of the two faces and recognized it. "Biggs?" He winced as the sound of his own voice echoed through his throbbing skull, even though it was barely a croaked whisper.  
  
"Right here, buddy," the older boy replied. "How do you feel?"  
  
Dumbly, Luke glanced over at the other face that hovered over his field of vision, trying to word his answer in the quickest and most painless manner. He recognized the second face, even though the name was escaping him at the moment. He wasn't even sure how he'd gotten himself in this position. He couldn't remember what he had done to batter himself so badly, but he was clearly aware of the pain now. He shut his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against them. "Hurts," was the only thing that escaped his lips.  
  
"Is it your head?"  
  
Luke tried to nod, but pain exploded in the back of his neck. "Yes," he whimpered, silently cursing his weakness. He was thirteen years old after all. Too old to be acting like such a baby.  
  
"Does anything else hurt?" Biggs' voice pressed.   
Luke wasn't aware of anything else really hurting, although his skin felt like it had been scraped against sandpaper in several places. It stung like hell, but it didn't hurt.  
  
"Luke?" Biggs' voice continued, insistent. "Can you move your legs and stuff?"  
  
Groggily, Luke concentrated on wiggling his toes. He could feel them brush against the inside of his boots, and he could also feel tiny bits of sand in there as well. How had he gotten sand in his boots? That was pretty hard to do. Unless, of course, he'd managed to tear them somehow in doing whatever it was that had gotten him into this mess. He still couldn't remember. His head pounded again.  
  
"Luke, answer me."  
  
His mind had been drifting, he realized. He braced himself to speak, knowing the effects it would have on his aching skull. "Yeah, I can move."  
  
"Do you think he'll be okay?" the second voice asked.  
  
Luke was still trying to place a name to person number two when the world suddenly lurched and his stomach did a sickening roll. Knowing what was about to happen, he fought the urge to lie still and rolled weakly onto his left side only seconds before his stomach emptied itself onto the sand. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain that this action set off in his head before rolling back onto his back, panting and weak.  
  
"Ugh, gross!" Fixer cried. "You could have warned me, Wormie!"   
  
Fixer, that's who it was. The name finally attached itself to the person who was frantically scrambling to his other side to kneel beside Biggs.   
  
"Uh-oh," he said dropping to his knees again. "He's blacking out again."  
  
Indeed, Luke felt the world around him start to waver and fade. He was aware of a slight shiver that went through his body as his grip on awareness began to slip.  
  
"No you don't."   
  
He barely heard Biggs' panicked voice as his mind tried to shut down. But he did feel the gentle smack of a hand repeatedly against his cheeks. His eyes flew open.  
  
"Stop," he groaned. It was bad enough to have a herd of charging banthas wreaking havoc in your brain, but to be slapped in the face over and over was flat out annoying.  
  
"Good. He's awake again."  
  
"Okay, so now what?" Fixer demanded.  
  
"Dunno. Do you think one of us should go for help?"  
  
At that, Luke grasped Biggs' arm and began struggling to sit up. There was no way anyone was going for help. Not after the recent streak of overprotectiveness that had seemed to plague his uncle and aunt where he was concerned. Lectures on this and that, warnings about what to do and what not to do, and the repeated expressed concern over his chosen group of friends flashed into his mind as he groaned, "No help. I'll be okay."  
  
"Whoa, Luke. Maybe you shouldn't be sitting up yet."  
  
No sooner had Biggs spoken the words than Luke began to agree with him. His head felt like it was splitting in two, and he fought back another wave of nausea as he continued to pull himself into a sitting position. Once seated upright, he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and murmured, "No, I'm all right." He had to get over this. His uncle would not be pleased if he'd gotten himself hurt by. . . .by doing what? He still couldn't remember what had happened. Had it been his fault? Had he been doing something his uncle would lecture him about?   
  
It didn't matter. He was thirteen years old and living with the most overprotective couple in the galaxy. He would hide a missing limb from them if he could. What was a little headache?  
  
He rubbed his closed eyes, saving him from having to open them and refocus once more. He had to try to get himself as close to normal working order as soon as possible.   
  
"How are you feeling, kid?" Fixer's unusually concerned voice asked.  
  
Keeping his eyes closed, he lied, "Getting better."  
  
He heard Fixer's relieved sigh. "You had us a little worried, there, Wormie."  
  
"More than a little," Biggs countered. "Are you sure you're okay?"  
  
Luke nodded, trying to work out some of the stiffness in his neck. He imagined his brain sloshing about inside his skull as he did so, as that was about how his head felt. It wasn't, however, pounding quite as badly, which was a marked improvement. Feeling a slightly stronger grip on things, he ventured to ask, "What happened?"  
  
"You did a nose dive off the bike, that's what happened," Fixer replied.  
  
That opened Luke's eyes as he brought his head up to study Biggs. "What bike?"  
  
He saw the worry in Biggs' look as the older boy answered, "The brand new speederbike I got for my birthday. Don't you remember?"  
  
Luke only had a vague idea of what a speederbike was. They were fast, dangerous, and illegal for anyone under sixteen. They also were highly unstable in Tatooine's climate. He certainly didn't remember Biggs getting one or why he would even want one when he'd just recently started fixing up that old Skyhopper. Swallowing down his growing uneasiness at his lack of memory, he responded honestly by shaking his head.  
  
Luke watched as his own apprehensions were mirrored in his friend's face. "Luke, I got that bike two days ago. You don't remember?"  
  
Again, Luke could only shake his head in response. He was beginning to panic, which didn't help his aching head any. It was one thing to try to hide a headache from his family, but he'd also managed to knock at least the last two days out of his brain, and that scared him.   
  
Apparently, it scared Biggs as well. "That's it. We're getting you to a medic." He turned to Fixer. "Let's get him up." They each struggled to get the kid's arms over each of their shoulders before slowly easing into a standing position. Luke managed to get his feet under him to support himself, but he was weak and shaky. Not to mention terrified.   
  
"We are in so much trouble," Fixer murmured softly as they slowly walked Luke away from where he'd fallen.  
  
With dismay, Luke suddenly noticed he crowd of kids that was clustered around them. Luke hadn't even been aware that there were others, and he shuddered as Biggs attempted to dismiss them. "Okay, guys. Show's over."  
  
There was a collective grumble as kids started to back away from them, but they didn't leave entirely. They just continued to watch as Luke allowed himself to be helped to a waiting speeder. He couldn't really blame them, for even he would've been drawn to a spectacle like this. Although he still wasn't sure what exactly had happened.  
  
"Biggs, what happened, exactly?" Luke whispered as they propped him against the side of the speeder.  
  
Biggs grimaced. "It was my fault. I lost control for a minute in the turn, and I managed to knock you off in the process of trying to get it back again."  
Luke merely nodded in understanding, a sudden throbbing in his head keeping him from speaking.  
  
"Luke, I'm really sorry. I-I was so scared when you didn't get up after you fell." Luke could hear the sincere concern in his voice and wanted to reassure him that he was fine.  
  
"Biggs, it's okay," he said quietly.  
  
"No, Luke. I'm getting rid of that thing," Biggs insisted. "Look, I almost got you killed back there."  
  
Luke's head had begun to ache fiercely again, and he really didn't feel like arguing. But Biggs was his best friend, and he felt strangely guilty for worrying him like this. "Biggs, don't be crazy. I'm far from dead. I just banged my head that's all." When Biggs looked at him skeptically, he pressed, "Look, you don't even have to take me to a medic. I mean, I really don't even want you to. If my uncle finds out about this, I don't know what he'll do. He's already started to get crazy about the stuff I do, and this will only make it worse."  
  
Biggs shook his head. "Luke, if you've got a serious head injury, you need to have it checked out."  
  
"It's not serious," Luke protested, although the fierce ache had already begun to resemble a stampeding bantha once again. "I'm fine."  
  
"Luke, I don't know-"  
  
Fixer cut in, "Hey, if the kid says he's fine, he's fine. Leave him alone."  
  
Biggs shot both of them a disapproving glare before caving in. "Fine. Fixer, you can take him home."  
  
"Me? Why me?"  
  
Luke, too, look confused.  
  
"Because we arrived on that bike, and I'm not stupid enough to put him back on that thing. You have the speeder, remember," he argued, indicating the speeder Luke was currently leaning against.  
  
Fixer seemed to weigh the situation in his mind a moment before grudgingly agreeing. "All right, I'll take him back to that farm of his." He turned sharply to Luke. "But you watch it, Wormie. I don't want you messing up my interior. You gotta hurl, you lean out the side, got it?"  
  
Luke nodded weakly.  
  
Biggs patted Luke on the shoulder. "I'll swing by tomorrow to see how you're doing, okay?"  
  
"Sure," Luke replied.  
  
"Come on, Wormie. I don't have all afternoon," Fixer shouted as he climbed into the speeder. Luke wasn't sure if Fixer was really annoyed with him or simply reverting to his obnoxious self after his brief lapse as a caring person. Either way, Luke mutely followed, climbing into the speeder and easing himself into the passenger seat. He winced as the back of his head made contact with the headrest, and reached back to feel a rather large and tender lump. Shifting to a more comfortable position, he indicated to Fixer that he was ready to leave.  
  
Fixer gunned the engine and took off across the desert.   
  
Luke rode silently beside him, fighting back nausea and desperately trying to figure a way out of this mess. Deciding to focus on something other than the odd sensation of moving and not moving at the same time that travelling across a desert plain seemed to induce, he studied his knuckles. Caked blood and sand covered them where he'd managed to scrape them across the sand. His shirt, too, was torn in a couple of places. Wincing as he flexed his raw fingers he looked down at the rest of his body. There were holes in his pants at the knees, and he could see a bit of blood and sand caked there too. His boots were indeed torn, as he had suspected earlier, right at the toe. Wriggling his feet, he grimaced at the gritty sand that brushed up against them. He sighed, closing his eyes. He really didn't know how he was going to explain this.  
  
"You know, you can always tell them that I beat you up," Fixer suggested in answer to his unspoken question. "That way you won't get in trouble."  
  
Luke glanced up at him, surprised at this moment of insight coming from someone he'd long suspected as being all brawn and no brain. Fixer was looking back at him, seeking a response. Luke sighed again before replying, "That won't work. My uncle has a serious thing against me fighting anyone. Remember that wrestling match me and Windy got into?"  
  
Fixer nodded. "Windy got you good that time."  
  
"Yeah, well I got grounded on top of it all," Luke finished.  
  
"So, then just tell him the truth," Fixer argued.  
  
"I've been saving up for a landspeeder. If I tell them about this, they'll never let me drive."  
  
"You're only thirteen. You can't drive a speeder anyway."  
  
"I'm almost fourteen," Luke countered. "And it'll take me a year to save it up as it is."  
  
"So, then what are you so panicked about?" Fixer was clearly confused at Luke's logic.  
  
Unfortunately, in his state, so was Luke. "Look, it's not that simple," he struggled to explain. "My uncle doesn't forget stuff like this."  
  
Fixer just shook his head. "Whatever."  
  
Wincing against the pain that suddenly surged up through the back of his neck and into his skull, Luke said nothing more. All he wanted right now was to get home and curl up in his bed. He hoped fervently that no one would be there to greet him and question him about the cuts and scrapes. He didn't want to have to answer, and didn't think he could come up with anything convincing right now that would keep him out of trouble.   
  
Again, a spasm of pain shot up through him, and he gasped involuntarily.  
Thinking he'd done something to cause it, Fixer quickly reached a steadying hand out to his shoulder. "Sorry."  
  
Luke couldn't even utter thanks, let alone dismiss Fixer's apology as not being his fault. Instead, he held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut, willing an end to the pain. His stomach rolled again, but he fought back the urge to throw up for fear it would make his head worse. He felt the cold beads of sweat spring to his forehead as well as the cold dampness that soon covered his body. His torn tunic clung to his chilled skin and he shivered, signaling the inevitable. Eyes still closed, he leaned over the side and retched.   
He was aware of the speeder's decrease in speed as Fixer slowed down to a stop. "You okay, kid?"   
  
The question sounded distant and murky. He pulled himself back into the speeder and felt his grip on reality begin to waver. His heart was beating at an odd rhythm, his breathing didn't feel right, and his hand quaked as he brushed it across his forehead. Tears worked their way out from the corners of his eyes as he fought to stay conscious. He couldn't lose it now. He just couldn't. Not over a lousy headache. But why did it have to hurt so badly?  
  
"I'm starting to think this is serious," Fixer's voice interrupted his thoughts. It was clearer this time, a good sign.  
  
Luke worked moisture into a suddenly dry mouth and managed, "I'm okay now."  
  
"Yeah, right, Wormie," Fixer shouted. "It looked like you were going to pass out just now. And I'm thinkin' that Biggs was right. You might have a concussion or something."  
  
Luke risked opening his eyes and focusing them on Fixer. He wasn't blurry, another good sign. "And just what is a doctor going to do for a concussion?"  
  
Fixer shrugged, "Dunno. Make you stay home and rest, I guess. That's what my uncle did when he had one."  
  
"Okay, so I'll do that on my own. I'll lie and say I'm sick." Luke looked at him imploringly. "Come on, Fix. My aunt and uncle can't know that I did this . . . however I did this."  
  
"See! You can't even remember how you got yourself hurt, Wormie!" Fixer cried. "It was on a speederbike. Biggs was showing off and you fell off. That's what happened!"  
  
"I know!" Luke retorted, although he really didn't. In fact, he had no memory of a speederbike at all. He couldn't even remember how Biggs got it. Or where Biggs was now. Why wasn't he driving him home? He vaguely remembered lying in the sand, but it was all a blur. Any conversations they'd had were completely gone. All he knew was that he hurt and he didn't want his aunt and uncle to know because they'd overreact. But now he was so confused, he wasn't even sure if it was possible for them to overreact to this situation. It was beginning to look worse and worse in his mind. Panic surged like a sudden sandstorm and Luke groaned, "Oh stars!"  
  
"Luke?"  
  
Luke turned to Fixer and tried vainly to fight back hysterical tears. "My memory. It's all messed up. I can't remember. And stuff is just gone. Stuff from five minutes ago. It's all a mess. Oh sweet stars, what do I do?" He knew he was breaking down in front of one of the least compassionate people he knew, and the person who was furthest from being considered a friend. But right now he didn't care. He was scared. Terrified. He drew deep breaths to try to keep calm, but his alarm was too great and his head was too sore. All he could do was cry. And crying hurt.  
  
Fixer stared at him for a moment, trying to process the whole situation. In a moment, he simply swore. "To hell with driving you home. You need a hospital." He reached down to throttle up the speeder.  
  
Luke frantically grabbed his arm. "No, wait! We're almost to my house. Let my aunt and uncle do it."  
  
Fixer gave him a wary stare before nodding. "Okay, but you make sure you get checked out." He turned back toward the desert landscape and hurried toward the Lars Homestead as fast as his speeder could take them.   
Dumbly, Luke watched the landscape scream by as he dried his tears and hoped things didn't go from bad to worse.  
  
A little while later, Luke was staggering to the door of his home, aware that Fixer's eyes were trained on him the entire time. When he finally reached the entrance, he threw a small wave back at the unexpectedly compassionate boy and ducked inside. Bracing himself, he waited for his aunt's usual, "Is that you, Luke?" When he heard nothing, he went further inside and was greeted by silence and emptiness. He breathed a sigh of relief. Both his aunt and his uncle were out of the house.  
  
Suddenly, he wondered why he felt relieved. After all, hadn't he promised Fixer that he'd get help? But if they weren't there, that would give him time to see if he really needed the help. After all, there was no sense getting in trouble for nothing if he started getting better. Why tell them that he'd been . . .what was it that he'd been doing? He tried to clear the fog in his aching brain, but he couldn't quite remember. Wait! Fixer had told him. He'd been riding on Biggs' speederbike. That was it. At least, that was what Fixer had told him had happened, which was all Luke had to rely on right now. And he knew that his uncle would react badly if he'd gotten hurt on a speederbike, so it was better not to tell him. No, he wouldn't say anything unless he absolutely had to.   
Looking down at his torn and bloodied clothing, he quickly decided to shower and change. That would get rid of the most visible evidence. Yes, that was what he'd do. He headed toward his bedroom to get some clean clothes and to throw away the ones he'd ruined. Halfway there, he was forced to stop. The wall paintings suddenly began to sway and dance in his vision, and he leaned heavily against the wall until they were finished. Righting himself again, he felt that cold dampness that had crept up on him earlier and tried to force it back. He wouldn't get sick again. He had nothing left in his stomach anyway.   
  
He continued resolutely to his room and gathered up the clothing he'd need to change into. There was a tunic that was a bit too large for him, and he hoped the sleeves would cover up his scraped knuckles. The only other thing that concerned him was his boots, but he could go barefoot for now. That problem could wait until morning if it had to. He gingerly climbed out of his ruined clothes, bracing himself against the wall with one hand and being careful not to pull too hard on the cloth that was caked to his knees. Undressed and clutching the bundle of fresh clothes to his chest, he headed for the 'fresher.   
  
He emerged a little while later fully clothed once more, but doubled over from the pounding agony in his head. The sonic shower had cleansed him, but it had made his headache worse, and he didn't know why. Gripping the wall for support, he weakly stumbled back to his room and collapsed on the bed, tears streaming unbidden from his eyes. He took several shallow breaths, trying to ease the pain, the nausea, and the pull toward unconsciousness that was beginning to look like a rather pleasant option. He shivered as he broke into a sweat again, so carefully he reached down and pulled his blankets up to his chin.  
  
At that moment, he heard movement in the house.  
  
"Luke, are you home yet?" his aunt's voice called distantly from somewhere inside the home.   
  
Shivering violently and hugging his blanket as a lifeline, Luke was unable to respond. Any improvements he had made since hurting himself had been erased in that blasted shower, and now he could barely summon the energy to move his lips, let alone call out to his Aunt Beru.   
  
"I guess he's still out with his friends," he heard her say. If she was still talking aloud, that meant that-  
  
"Well, he'd better get home soon. I don't like him staying out like this. Too much trouble to get into."  
  
Luke winced at the sound of his uncle's voice. Just recently, he had begun to develop a stubbornness regarding Luke's activities, and he had become almost unreasonable. Luke told himself that Owen was simply being a bit overprotective of him out of love, but it was often hard to believe that when confronted with his uncle's stern glare. The man was intimidating and gruff, and he'd long ago ceased any undue outward signs of affection. Luke knew in his heart that the love was there, but it was very hard to spot most of the time. Especially when his uncle was disappointed in him. More than anything, Luke hoped to avoid that tonight.  
  
"Owen, you worry too much," Aunt Beru was saying. "You know he's not going to-did you leave these lights on?"  
  
"Oh no," Luke breathed. They'd discover that he was home, come in to find him lying here, and he wouldn't be able to hide the fact that he'd been out . . . doing what again?  
  
His head throbbed mightily, and he gave up trying to remember as his stomach lurched again. He bit back the nausea and hugged his blankets tighter. He had to do something. He was aware that his aunt and uncle were talking, although he could no longer hear what they were saying through the drumming in his ears. He tried to slow his breathing, which had become rather rapid, hoping to present a somewhat normal appearance. But how normal could he appear if he was lying in bed before dinner? He gave up and decided to leave things to chance.  
  
"Luke?" His uncle's voice called loudly through the hall leading to his room. A moment later, both Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen were standing at the foot of his bed.  
  
"Luke, honey, what's wrong?" Beru asked as she sat on the edge of the bed and worriedly regarded her nephew. "Are you sick?"  
  
Illness! That was the key! Why hadn't he thought of it before? Or had he? "Yes," he lied, his voice barely above a whispered groan.  
  
"Probably caught that thing that Huff had from hanging out with his son," Owen muttered as his wife placed a hand on Luke's forehead.   
  
Her hand felt surprisingly warm against his skin, and he relaxed into her touch.  
  
"Well, he doesn't have a fever," Beru commented, "but he does seem rather cold and clammy." She delicately brushed a few sweaty strands of hair off of his face and asked, "Can you tell me what's bothering you?"  
  
Luke was saved from answering by a sudden wave of dizziness that had him heaving over the edge of the bed as his aunt gently stroked his back. Luke trembled uncontrollably as he lay back down on the bed, and he watched as his aunt and uncle exchanged worried glances. They knew!  
  
"Do you think it's serious enough to take him to a doctor?" Owen was asking.  
  
Beru tucked the blankets more snuggly around her nephew to ease his trembling before replying, "I think we can wait until morning. There's no fever, and it could easily just be something he ate."  
  
Luke looked at her in shock. They didn't know. He still had a chance to hide the whole incident from them.   
  
"What do you think, Luke?" his uncle pressed, concern etched on his features.  
  
Luke's heart went out to him. He suddenly wanted to confess everything. To cry out to him, "No, take me to a hospital! I disobeyed you and got hurt! It's all my fault!"  
  
But he didn't. He remained mute, for reasons he couldn't explain. He'd later regret his mistake; but for the moment, he kept quiet, glancing from one guardian to the other.  
  
At last, Beru sighed. "We'll let him sleep and keep an eye on him. He should be fine." She leaned forward and planted a loving kiss on his cheek. Then she rose from the bed and turned to her husband. "I'll clean up in here and then get dinner ready, Owen."  
  
Owen nodded and left the room as Beru proceeded to clean the small mess Luke had made. When she was finished, she placed another kiss on his forehead.  
  
"I'll be back in to check on you in a little while, okay, honey?" she whispered.  
  
Luke mouthed a "Yeah," unable to actually speak or nod, then watched as his aunt disappeared out the door, shutting off the lights as she left.  
  
Alone with his pain and fear, Luke wondered why he'd remained silent. Why he'd been unable to speak up when he'd had the chance. But before long, he allowed his eyes to drift shut and he sank into painless darkness. Whether it was sleep or unconsciousness, he wasn't sure. But either way, it was a blessed release from the anguish he'd endured throughout the day, and it was several hours before he opened his eyes again.  
  
When Luke did finally open his eyes, it was perfectly dark in his room, throwing him into a disoriented panic. The bed seemed to sway gently beneath his body, and he found himself clutching at the sides in an effort to find some semblance of balance. Without light, it was hard to tell which direction was up, so he remained in a state of terrified paralysis for several minutes. When things slowly began to stop their sickening motion, Luke tentatively tried to move.   
  
Miraculously, the throbbing pain was gone from his head, and he was left with merely a vague soreness behind his eyes and at the back of his skull. His stomach still felt a bit on the weak side, and his balance was far from perfect as he struggled into a sitting position on the bed. Sore muscles protested against his action, but he had no choice. Nature, it seemed, was calling him to the 'fresher, and he had to obey or risk more embarrassment than a thirteen year-old boy was able to handle. He gingerly swung his legs around to the bedside and placed his feet on the floor. Taking a deep breath, he rose to stand, and was satisfied when he didn't collapse into a heap.   
  
Blinking his eyes around the room, he realized it must be nearing dawn, for the faint outlines of the objects in his room were starting to emerge from the total darkness he had awakened to. He must have been asleep for quite a long time then, for it was early afternoon when his aunt had left his room to go prepare dinner for his uncle. Hoping that the sleep had done him some good, he reached out his hand and felt along the wall as he made his way to the 'fresher. Realizing that his nose had started to run, he sniffled and wiped his sleeve across his face. No, it wasn't very hygienic, but it would do. As he walked, his dizziness increased, but the pain didn't. Feeling that this was a good sign, he stepped into the 'fresher and switched on the light.  
  
And drew a startled breath at the red stain on his sleeve. Wiping his nose once more, he realized that his nose wasn't running. It was bleeding! He reeled. He'd never had a nosebleed before, and he wasn't good with blood to begin with. Small cuts were one thing, but any large quantity of blood was enough to make him faint. Especially if it was his own blood. Weak with fear and the aftereffects of his injury, he pondered risking a glance in the mirror to see how bad it was. Thinking it would be best to confront the problem face to face, so to speak, he approached the mirror.  
  
His reflection made him stagger. Eyes wide with horror and underscored with dark purple circles stared out of a face that was ghastly pale, while a thin trail of crimson blood ran from each nostril and down to his collar. He couldn't help but focus on the blood that glared red against his deathly white skin. Suddenly icy cold, sick, and dizzy, he backed into the wall, not realizing his mistake. The tender lump at the back of his head made contact with the hard surface and his mind exploded in a brilliant flash of fiery pain as he was plunged into absolute darkness.  
  
There were voices. Disjointed ones. And they seemed to be asking questions and making statements at the same time.  
  
". . .coming around. . . . .hear me?. . .your name. . .? . . . stay with. . . . . fracture. . . . .hear me?. . .. give me a. . . out again. . .."  
They were swallowed up by the darkness almost as quickly as they had emerged and he plunged back into unawareness.  
  
Luke's eyes flashed open and then squinted again as they were confronted with brilliant light. It was almost blinding in its glare, and Luke dimly wondered if he was staring at the twin suns. Shadows seemed to move before him, periodically blocking the light, but he couldn't focus on any of them. And it hurt too much to try. His eyes didn't want to work, and neither did his ears as he was greeted back to consciousness by a mumbled drone of what he guessed were voices. Nothing was distinct, however, and he gave up trying to figure out what was going on as pain racked him once more. Closing his eyes again, he drifted back into oblivion.  
  
When his eyes opened again, the brilliant light was gone. It had been replaced by something much softer. The voices were gone as well, leaving him in a kind of soothing silence. Glancing about, his eyes fell upon a figure at his bedside. Through his blurry vision, he could not make out the person's identity. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to focus, and eventually managed to make out the form of an unfamiliar old man. As though suddenly taking notice of his effort, the old man regarded him with a smile and placed a hand upon his shoulder.  
  
"Not yet, young Luke. Rest."  
  
The words were clear, even though Luke had not seen the old man make a sound. It was as if the command had been spoken inside of his own head. And yet, it was one he could not resist, as he slowly slipped back into unconsciousness.  
  
As he drifted back into awareness, he was conscious of the tight squeeze on his left hand and a mild pressure against his head. He was lying on a soft bed that wasn't his own, but he felt relatively comfortable. In fact, as he opened his eyes once more, he noted that there was very little pain at all. It seemed that the only thing he could recall experiencing before this moment had been pain. But now it was gone. He blinked his eyes, and took in the warm light that bathed the room. Things were coming into focus without much effort, and within moments his eyes fell upon a familiar form.  
  
In a very unfamiliar position.  
  
Perched in a chair at his bedside, head resting on one arm that was curled on the mattress, was his Uncle Owen, perfectly sound asleep. His other arm rested at Luke's side, holding the boy's left hand tightly even as he slept. Luke stared dumbfounded at the older man, puzzled as to how circumstances had placed him in this position. He noted that his uncle's face was unshaven, and that his clothes appeared rumpled. As he watched the man's steady breathing, Luke winced at the thought of the aches and pains his uncle was going to wake up to after sleeping in such an awkward position. He hoped it wouldn't make him grumpy, as he was prone to get without a good night's sleep. But why had he slept there in the first place?  
  
Glancing around the room in search of an explanation, Luke balked at his unfamiliar surroundings. The room was very small, and sparsely furnished. The walls were a warm, sandy shade, but devoid of the paintings that decorated his own home. A small table sat against one wall, with another chair beside it. Next to his bed, on the right side, some sort of machine whirred and beeped rhythmically. And suddenly, he knew. He was in a hospital. He'd never been in one before-he'd never had a need to, for he was never sick. But his groggy mind had somehow managed to piece things together quite rapidly, and he knew that was where he was. But why?  
  
At that moment, the door to the room slid open, and Luke quickly looked over to see who was coming in, half expecting to see the strange old man whose image hovered inexplicably at the back of his consciousness. Instead, a tired and weary woman entered. Aunt Beru?  
  
Luke gasped audibly at her haggard features, and she looked up from the cup of caf that she held tightly in her hands. She almost dropped it at the sight of his wide-eyed stare.  
  
A smile that hovered somewhere between surprise, relief, and joy graced her tired features as she rushed to his right side. "You're awake!" she whispered excitedly, taking his right hand into hers. Quickly setting down her caf, she stroked his face with her other hand, tears glistening in her eyes. "You had us so scared."  
  
Luke shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to see his aunt cry or to hear the anguish in her voice at what he'd somehow put her through. "I'm okay now, Aunt Beru," he whispered back to her. "I'm okay."  
  
Not taking her eyes from him, she pressed, "How-how do you feel? Does your head hurt?"  
  
He shook his head, noting a bit of stiffness in the back of his neck and the unfamiliar pressure against the back of his skull, but no pain. "Not anymore," he answered.  
  
He felt a shift on his left side, and glanced over to see his uncle stirring out of his slumber. Tired eyes focused on Luke's alert gaze, and Owen jerked awake.   
  
"You're awake!" he nearly cried. "How do you feel, boy?"  
  
Luke swallowed back the lump that rose in his throat at his uncle's tearful concern. "I'm good," he replied hoarsely. "A bit tired, but the pain's gone."  
  
Uncle Owen clasped Luke's hand in both of his and squeezed tightly, pressing his forehead to the tips of Luke's fingers. He was silent for a long moment before he finally breathed, "I was afraid we were going to lose you." He raised his eyes to his nephew's face and implored, "Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you tell us?"  
  
Guilt, like a sandstorm of hurt, washed over Luke at his uncle's words. He vaguely remembered not telling his aunt and uncle about his injury, but he couldn't remember why. Things were already too muddled in his brain to make any sense out of what he'd done, and the only thing he could remember clearly was the pain that he'd felt. Everything else was a blur, and he found himself unable to answer his uncle's question. He fervently wished that he could, however. Staring into his uncle's face, he wanted to tell him anything that would make the guilt go away. He wanted to explain away his uncle's worry and his aunt's tears.   
  
Instead, he felt the tears spring into his own eyes. "I-I don't know," he stammered. "I don't remember. I'm sorry, Uncle Owen. I'm so sorry."  
  
"It's okay, dear," his aunt began, wiping away his tears with her hand. "It's okay. Everything is okay, now."  
  
Luke shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't even know what happened. I just remember being afraid to tell you."  
  
"Why were you afraid, Luke?" his uncle asked.  
  
"I-I don't know," Luke replied, choking on his tears. "I don't know. It was stupid, but I don't remember why I did it. I'm sorry." He felt that he couldn't apologize enough. He'd made a mistake, he knew. But he couldn't sort out the jumbled memories in his brain to explain himself. "I'm so sorry, Aunt Beru. Uncle Owen. I'm-"  
  
"Shhhh," Aunt Beru soothed. "You were confused, that's all. It doesn't matter." She wiped away a few more tears before she added, "What matters is that you are all right now."  
  
Luke nodded, wishing her words would erase the guilt. They didn't, but he did feel a bit better. Brushing his hand across his eyes to get rid of the last of the tears, he blinked sleepily.  
  
"We'd better get that droid back in here," Owen spoke to his wife. "Let them know that he's awake."  
  
Beru nodded, and moved toward the door.  
  
"What droid?" Luke asked in confusion.  
  
"The medical droid that's been working on you, dear," Aunt Beru answered gently.   
  
"Droid?" Luke questioned. "Then who was that man?"  
  
His uncle's face grew grave. "What man?"  
  
Alarmed at the shift in his uncle's expression, Luke tried to explain. "The man. The old man who was sitting right there." He indicated the spot where his uncle was now sitting. "He made me go back to sleep."  
  
"Are you sure?" his aunt asked, her own face mirroring his uncle's sudden concern.   
  
Luke looked from one to the other worriedly. "I think so. I mean, it could have been a dream, I guess. But my head hurt like when I was awake, so I think it was real." He continued to move his eyes from one guardian to the other. "I thought he was a doctor or something."  
  
Neither his aunt nor his uncle replied. Instead, they looked to one another, exchanging glances that Luke could not understand. Puzzled, he waited for an answer.   
  
Without looking back at Luke, Beru headed once more to the door. "I'll get the medical droid."  
  
Luke watched her leave before turning back to his uncle. "Uncle Owen?" When the other simply watched the door and didn't respond, Luke continued, "Uncle Owen, was it a dream?"  
  
Uncle Owen turned back toward Luke, forcing a smile. "It probably was, Luke. Just a dream." He stroked the boy's cheek a moment before looking back over his shoulder toward the door.  
  
Within moments, Aunt Beru reentered, followed by a rather terrifying metal entity. With a skull-like face and transparent abdomen, it looked like something out of Luke's nightmares. Unable to stop himself, Luke drew in a sharp breath in shock before demanding, "What is that?"  
  
Beru was startled by her nephew's reaction. "Luke," she said in a calm voice, "this is the medical droid that's been taking care of you. He saved your life."  
  
Luke persisted in gazing at the metal man with furrowed brows and a doubtful expression. This was no soothing doctor standing before him, but a metal horror. He was glad he'd been out of it earlier, because he was sure the shock of seeing this thing would have killed him. Then, suddenly, something clicked in his mind. Something his aunt had just said.  
  
"What do you mean, 'saved my life'?" he asked slowly. "What was wrong with me? I just bumped my head and passed out, right? "  
  
Beru and Owen looked at each other uncomfortably before the medical monster finally spoke. The voice it emitted was surprisingly soothing and gentle. "You've suffered from a severe skull fracture and some internal hemorrhaging, sir. It was, in fact, quite a life-threatening injury. However, I must say, your recovery has been remarkable. I have never seen such a rapid improvement. By all accounts, sir, you should still be in a coma."  
  
Listening to the droids words, Luke suddenly felt his mouth go very dry and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Reality hit him like a physical blow, and it stunned him. Reaching tentative fingers up and across his forehead, he felt the plaster-like bandage that encased his head and suddenly realized the source of the odd pressure he'd felt there. "C-c-coma?" was all he could stammer.  
  
"Yes," came the all-too-calm reply from the droid. "You've been unconscious for the better part of ten days, with a few brief periods of semi-consciousness. We had to perform surgery on-"  
  
"Stop!" Luke cried, feeling ill with the knowledge of what he'd been through without his even knowing it. Blurred recollections of staggering pain and blood rose to the surface of his consciousness, and hearing the droid's words made their disjointed and distorted appearance too much to handle. "I've heard enough, thank you."  
  
"Yes, sir," the droid politely responded. "But I do have to perform a few tests."  
  
Luke threw a terrified glance at his aunt and uncle.  
  
Aunt Beru moved toward him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Luke, it's important. We'll be right here. You'll be okay."  
  
Luke mutely nodded at her, but he turned his gaze away from the droid. He felt like a baby for being so scared around what was obviously a care-giving machine, but he couldn't help it. So, instead, he stared down at his folded hands, noting the healing scars on his knuckles. Tightness formed in this throat as he remembered seeing these knuckles torn and bloodied the last time he'd looked at them. Unbidden, the image of his own face, deathly pale with lines of crimson, flashed into his mind. Flipping his hands over so that the palms faced up, he swallowed and pushed the vision out of his head. He didn't need to remember that. He didn't need to remember any of it. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he realized that there was too much that he didn't remember. How much had been erased forever? He shivered.  
  
If he'd only known how badly he'd been hurt, he'd have gotten help sooner. Wouldn't he? The circumstances of his injury were still lost among the memories he wasn't sure he would ever be able to retrieve. The image of his pale face in the mirror came to him again, and he winced.  
  
"Are you experiencing physical pain, sir?" he heard the droid ask gently.  
  
Startled, Luke looked up into his metal face. "No," he replied softly.  
  
"Psychological pain, perhaps?"   
  
Luke didn't know what that meant, but he felt it was important that he answer. After all, the last time he'd kept something to himself, he'd almost died. This much, he could recall. He shook his head and whispered, "Just tiny memories of being hurt. But they're just flashes, really. And I can't remember a whole lot else, which scares me."  
  
"Some memory loss is typical with severe head injury," explained the droid with a caring voice that still seemed out of place coming from such a skeletal head. "Short term memory is most often affected, usually causing the days or weeks surrounding the injury to be permanently lost."  
  
"You mean I'll never remember what happened?" Luke asked, his voice rising slightly in panic.  
  
"More than likely," replied the droid. "But we still need to run some more tests to be sure. And you'll be staying here for some time for observation."  
  
Luke silently nodded his head before allowing the droid to poke, prod, examine, and analyze. He began to grow sleepy as the droid continued his examination, and wished he would just go away. With heavy eyes, he watched as the droid finally seemed to complete his tests and a data screen slid out from the wall beside his bed. It took the droid several minutes to key information into it before it turned back to Luke.  
  
"Now I think it's time for you to rest, sir."  
  
Luke was about to protest when his uncle stepped in.   
"Didn't you say you were tired, Luke?" he asked.  
  
Luke looked down at his palms and answered honestly, "Yes."  
  
"Then get some sleep."  
  
Realizing that his uncle and the scary droid were right, Luke agreed. "Okay, I'll sleep."   
  
Aunt Beru came forward and clasped his hand in hers. "We'll be here if you need anything."  
  
Suddenly feeling too tired to answer, he nodded, closing his eyes.   
  
He heard the droid say to his aunt or uncle, "I would like to discuss a few things with you in the hallway, if I may."  
  
"Yes, certainly," came his uncle's response.  
  
Luke's eyes popped open. "Uncle Owen, wait!"  
  
Owen turned to regard Luke for a moment before stepping close to the bedside. "What is it, Luke?"  
  
"I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. For all of this. I didn't mean to make you guys worry." He tried to put as much earnestness into his sleepy voice as he could. He wasn't sure how successful he was, though.  
  
His uncle simply patted his hand and smiled. "I know you didn't mean anything. And I know you're sorry. Now go to sleep before we have to start worrying about you again."  
  
Luke smiled up at his uncle before closing his eyes. In mere seconds, he was fast asleep.  
  
  
  
"Now tell me, sir, what is your full name?"  
  
"Luke Skywalker." Luke was bored and hungry, but he knew that the medical droid-whom he'd discovered was a 2-1B model-needed to ask these questions to see how serious his memory loss was. It was an annoying drill.  
  
"Your age?"  
  
"Thirteen standard years, but I'll be fourteen in two months."  
  
"The names of your parents?"  
  
Luke was quiet.  
  
"Do you remember the names of your parents?"  
  
Luke shook his head and explained, "I'm an orphan. I live with my aunt and uncle, Owen and Beru Lars."  
  
"Ah, I see," the droid responded.  
  
Luke frowned. The droid was acting like this was new information. All of this stuff was already on his charts. He didn't see the need for the droid to start play-acting when it was Luke's memory that was being tested.  
  
"Favorite moment in the past year?"  
  
Luke smiled. This was a different type of question. "I helped Uncle Owen get his landspeeder running again. His hands were too big to get inside the repulsor system, so I did it instead."  
  
"How long ago was this?"  
  
Luke thought a moment. "A few months, I guess." Dryly he added, "Give or take ten days."  
  
The 2-1B ignored his sarcasm. "What was your first day of school like?"  
  
"Terrible. I got picked on by a bully who later became sort of a friend of mine. But I got him back. And the teacher was awful."  
  
Uncle Owen took a step toward Luke from the corner of the room. He'd been silently watching over every test they'd run on the boy. "I thought your first day of school was great. Isn't that what you told me?"  
  
Luke shrugged. "I lied because you told me never to complain about stuff."  
  
Owen found himself smiling in spite of himself, and indicated to the medical droid that he could continue.  
  
The droid studied the interaction between the two before continuing. "But you do remember everything about that day?"  
  
"Definitely."  
  
"And what about the accident that caused your injuries?"  
  
Luke shook his head. "Still nothing."  
  
"What's the last thing you remember before the accident?"  
  
Back to the questions that bothered him. Without the aid of a calendar or a set of days he could use as a marker, Luke found this task rather hard. Images and words still came to him in brief flashes, but they were unconnected to anything else and only served to confuse him more. Biggs had already told everyone what had actually happened. But to Luke, it was like hearing a story about someone else. As far as he could recall, nothing Biggs said had happened to him. He merely bore the scars of the events in the story.   
  
"It's hard to say," he finally responded. "I still don't remember Biggs' birthday. And I don't remember anything about the speederbike. Actually, it's a lot easier to tell you what I don't remember. Why don't you ask me questions like that?"  
  
"Luke, don't be difficult."  
  
Luke turned his head in reaction to his uncle's comment and threw a sharp glare at him. "I'm not trying to be difficult! This is just very frustrating and pointless!" He looked back at the droid. "I can't tell you my last memory because it's all jumbled up with stuff from after I hit my head, so it's hard to get it all straight. And there's a lot of stuff that happened before that, so it's hard to sort out which one is the most recent! Okay?" He let out an angry breath. "Look, I just don't want to do this anymore!"  
  
Before Owen could react to Luke's brief tirade, the 2-1B interjected. "Sir, I think I've obtained enough information within the past few days to assemble a diagnosis and prognosis. I'll return after I've processed everything." With that the droid turned and left the room, leaving a frustrated boy and an irritated man behind.  
  
A thick silence descended upon the room. Owen stared at his nephew in obvious disapproval, and Luke glared back at his uncle in just as obvious aggravation. Neither seemed about to speak or release the stare. It was quite sometime before Owen, being the authoritarian, finally spoke.  
  
"I think you should explain yourself right now, young man." His voice was harsh and commanding, but Luke didn't flinch. "Droid or no droid, that 2-1B is the only reason you are sitting up in that bed, so I would expect some respect, or at the very least, some courtesy to be displayed here. Not this inappropriate and childish impertinence."  
  
Instead of feeling ashamed, Luke only intensified his glare. "Explain myself? Do you have any idea what it is like to lose huge chunks of your memory and know that you're never going to get it back? Do you know what it's like to be poked and prodded and tested because even the medics are surprised at your fascinating recovery even though you still don't feel so hot? Or to be confined to a bed in a tiny cubicle because you've been in a coma for ten days?"  
  
Owen's temper rose at Luke's surprising insolence. "And do you know what it's like to wake up and find your nephew lying pale and unconscious and bleeding on the floor and not know why?"  
  
Luke blanched at his uncle's retort. He'd no idea that they'd found him that way. He only vaguely recalled that night. Great stars, what must they have felt? No wonder they'd both looked so haggard yesterday. Luke opened his mouth to speak, but more harsh words followed.  
  
"If you hadn't been fool enough to get on that speederbike, none of this would have happened! There are always consequences for your actions. You have no one to blame but yourself for this, Luke!"  
  
This time, his uncle's words hit Luke like a slap in the face, and all the compassion he'd just felt vanished in a heated rush. "I can't believe you are going to blame me for something I don't even remember doing! And that I will probably never remember doing because I cracked my skull in the process! No wonder I was afraid to tell you what happened!"  
  
Owen took a step toward his nephew and demanded, "Is that why you wouldn't tell us? Because you were afraid of dealing with the consequences? Of suffering the blame of your own mistake?"  
  
"I don't remember!" Luke screamed. The frustrations of the past two days welled up inside him and broke like a dam bursting. "Don't you get it? I don't remember! I don't know why I did what I did! I don't know why I hid everything from you! But I do know that I'm tired of walking on eggshells because I'm afraid of disappointing you all the time! And I'm tired of having to make excuses to you about why I hang out with the only friends I've ever been able to make on this dustball of a planet! And I'm tired of feeling guilty about everything I do when all I'm doing is being a kid! I'm tired of not being good enough for you! And I'm tired of worrying you! And I'm tired of being reminded that I'm only your nephew and feeling like I'll always be a burden to you when all I've ever wanted was to be treated like a son!"   
  
He choked on the sobs that unexpectedly began to wrack his tired body, and he collapsed back on the bed pressing his hands to his eyes as the tears streamed out of them. He'd just poured out his worst fears to his uncle at the worst possible moment, and he didn't care. He was now crying uncontrollably like a little baby, and he didn't care. He didn't care if his uncle would be disappointed in him now for not behaving like a man! He was exhausted and confused and aching inside, and he was only thirteen years old! He was a boy. He needed to cry. He needed to vent.  
  
He needed to be hugged.  
  
He grabbed one of the pillows from behind his head and clutched it desperately to his chest, rocking back and forth in a fetal position as he continued to sob uncontrollably. This had been too much for him. He wanted his memory back. He wanted to leave this blasted hospital. He wanted a damn father! Not this man who was always criticizing but rarely encouraging, always watchful but never loving. He wanted the kind of family he saw other kids with. The kind of family he would never have.  
  
Already weakened, his fit of tears brought him to the brink of exhaustion. It didn't take long for his limited energy to be spent, and his sobs slowed as his strength waned. Gasping into his pillow, he shut his eyes and willed himself to sleep, no longer caring if his uncle remained in the room or not. He was tired. He was drained.  
  
And suddenly, he was being held.  
  
Luke's eyes weakly fluttered open at the unexpected sensation of being held in a pair of strong arms that reached around him from behind and rocked him gently as his tears slowly subsided. Craning his head to look behind him, he gazed into the grief-stricken face of his uncle. It was a look Luke had never seen on his face before, and it almost brought him to tears again.   
But he felt his uncle's warm breath against his forehead as he softly whispered, "Shhh, it's okay, Luke. Shhh."  
  
Too moved to speak and too tired to move, Luke shut his eyes and relaxed into his uncle's embrace. He could not recall ever being held like this before. Not by his Uncle Owen. Grasping his chance, he allowed himself to drift to sleep in his uncle's arms.  
  
"I'm actually gonna' miss you, 2-1B," Luke admitted with a slight smile. He sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in his own clothes for the first time since he'd been admitted, regarding the droid fondly. "No one else has ever called me 'sir.' It's been kinda' neat to hear on a daily basis."  
  
"It's part of my programming, sir," the droid replied simply.  
  
"Yeah, well," Luke shrugged, sliding off the bed to stand on his own two legs again, "I still liked it."  
  
He wriggled his toes inside the brand new boots his aunt had brought him this morning. He'd definitely need to break them in. And now that he was finally going home and getting back to his normal life, he'd certainly have the chance. He took a few steps around the room to get used to them, and to simply walk around some more. He'd walked around some yesterday, but his legs still felt a little wobbly. Pausing at the mirror the staff had placed in the corner this morning, he examined his reflection. He still wore the hard bandage on his head, but the rings under his eyes had faded to a faint blue that would probably become less visible as soon as he stepped out into the sun. He'd have to get a hat soon, though. Aunt Beru had informed him, with no small amusement, that they'd had to shave the back of his head. That was bound to be a hit with the Anchorhead gang. For now, the bandage covered it. But that would be coming off in less than a week, and he'd need something else to hide his "haircut" under.   
"You have a visitor, sir," the 2-1B's voice spoke from behind him.  
  
Luke spun away from his reflection to see Biggs standing sheepishly in the doorway.  
  
"Biggs!" he exclaimed as he crossed the room to greet his friend. "So you've finally come to visit me now that I'm leaving," he laughed.  
  
Biggs shifted uneasily. "Well, I've been sort of . . .well, I guess you could say . . .sort of . . .grounded." The last word was a barely uttered whisper.  
  
Luke, however, caught it easily. "You? Grounded?" His eyebrows raised in disbelief.  
  
Biggs grimaced and slowly nodded.   
  
Howling with laughter, Luke teased, "And here I thought you were immune!"  
  
With a shrug, Biggs explained, "Yeah, well my dad wasn't too pleased with what happened to you. And seeing as it was my fault anyway, I accepted it fair enough." He sighed. "Figured I owed it to you."  
  
"Owed it to me?" Luke was clearly confused.  
  
Biggs stared at his feet, unable to meet his younger friend's gaze. "Luke, I nearly got you killed back there. And if that wasn't enough, I didn't listen to my gut instinct and get help. Instead, I let myself be talked out of it by a guy with a skull fracture."  
  
"You didn't know," the other suggested, trying to brush it off.  
  
"Yeah, but I should have. You fell pretty hard. And you were out for a few minutes." He paused. "And then when I heard . . . it was pretty touch and go for a while there, Luke. I was really scared that you weren't . . .that you wouldn't . . . you know."  
  
Luke shook his head. "But I'm fine now."  
  
"Yeah, but I'm the one who's supposed to be looking out for you."  
  
"Says who?"  
  
Biggs drew himself up and finally looked Luke in the eyes. "Luke, I'm older than you, I'm bigger than you, and I have more experience than you."  
  
"Yeah, but you've never experienced falling off a speederbike, now have you?" Luke countered with a grin.  
  
His retort had its desired effect, as Biggs' lips twitched and he seemed to relax. "You've got a point there."  
  
Glad to see his friend more at ease, Luke smiled and moved to a chair. "Mind if I sit down?"  
  
"Nope," Biggs answered and crossed to sit beside Luke. He pointed to the bandage. "Nice headwear, by the way. Meant to compliment you on it earlier."  
  
"Ha ha," Luke responded. "Unfortunately, I'm stuck in it for a few more days. And it's starting to seem like I'm stuck in here, too." He gestured toward the door. "Go see if my aunt or uncle is coming yet. I'm ready to go."  
  
Hopping out of his seat, Biggs quickly crossed to the door and peered down the corridor. He glanced back at Luke with a smile, waving him over. "They're on their way. Come on."  
  
Luke rose from his seat and crossed to the medical droid. "Bye, doc," he said, patting the droid's metal back.  
  
"Take care, sir."  
  
Luke nodded in reply and hurried out the door with Biggs.   
They quickly met up with Owen and Beru.   
  
Beru smiled briefly to Biggs before asking Luke, "All set to go?"  
  
"You bet," was Luke's heartfelt reply.  
  
Owen drew a steadying arm around Luke that the boy was grateful for. Luke hated appearing weak, but both he and his uncle knew it would be a few days before his legs gathered strength. Besides, Luke was enjoying his newfound closeness to Uncle Owen, and he wasn't about to give that up over a silly matter of male pride. Who knew how long this would last?  
  
Giving Luke's shoulders a gentle squeeze, Owen asked, "Feeling all right?"  
  
"Feeling great," Luke answered.  
  
Turning his head to the other boy in their company, Owen surprisingly inquired, "And you?"  
  
Both Luke and Biggs were shocked at the question, for they both knew that Owen did not hold high regard for Biggs. Or his father, for that matter.  
Biggs stammered, "As well as can be expected with all of the youthful mistakes I've made, sir."  
  
Owen looked at his wife and smiled. "Well, we all make youthful mistakes from time to time." Giving Luke's shoulder another squeeze, he added, "No matter how old we get."  
  
Luke remained silent, grinning at the warmth that flowed through their little "family." He'd been mistaken in his estimation of their relationship to one another. They were a family. Even if they didn't fit the standard definition of one. And they were the only family he had.  
  
They walked out of the hospital and onto the sunbathed streets of Mos Espa, the only city on Tatooine with a functioning medical center. As they moved through the streets, Luke noticed someone out of the corner of his eye. Glancing in that direction, he spotted a figure and gasped.   
  
It was the old man. The one from his dream. Or had it been a dream? Luke stared at him, and the old man gazed back with a smile on his gentle, bearded features. It was as though the old man knew him. And, strangely, Luke felt as though a part of him recognized the man as well. He turned to his uncle.  
  
"Uncle Owen," he began, pointing in the direction of the old man, "there's the-" He broke off, realizing that the old man had vanished. He looked around, frantically trying to spot him again, but he was nowhere to be found.  
  
"The what, Luke?"   
  
Luke stared back up at his uncle's face. "Nothing," he replied. "I thought I saw something."  
  
Aunt Beru stared down at her nephew in concern. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"  
  
Luke smiled at her, dismissing the old man's disappearance and his aunt's worry at the same time. "Yes," he answered. "And this time, I mean it."  
  
The group moved down the street toward the family landspeeder, unaware that a pair of kindly blue eyes was watching them. Blue eyes whose owner would continue to watch over them and protect them for as long as he was able. No matter what youthful mistakes he himself had made in the past. 


	2. Part 2

Youthful Mistakes: Part 2

By KnightMara

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. The Great Flanneled One does! All hail George Lucas!

This takes place a year after Youthful Mistakes Part 1.

A year later, with memories of his trip to the hospital fading into the back of his mind, Luke was ready to start testing his limits once more. It was easy for a teenager to get bored on a desert planet, and Luke was certainly no exception. With the harvest over, and endless months of monotony ahead, the boy was growing exceedingly restless. In addition, his bond with his Uncle Owen had begun to fray at the edges again as Luke consistently tried to assert his independence and Owen pulled tightly on the reins. It was only a matter of time before the two of them were at it again, and Luke was trying desperately to avoid the inevitable blow up at all costs. 

At this moment, it meant getting out of the house. He didn't care where he went or what he did, so long as he was not around to somehow walk into trouble, as he seemed wont to do lately. He'd already been yelled at twice this week, and it had taken all of his reserve not mouth off in return. Even though he knew now, without a doubt, that his uncle loved him dearly, it didn't make living with the man any easier. Owen was still gruff, still stubborn, and still apt to push Luke's buttons. Luke had quickly learned that the best way to avoid this was to avoid him.

He slipped into the kitchen where Aunt Beru was putting away the breakfast dishes. 

"I'm going over to Windy's," he told her.

She spun on him with an incredulous look. "And just how are you supposed to get there?"

Startled by the quickness of her response, he stammered, "I'll walk?"

Clearly, she'd been expecting him to come in here and say something like this, for she replied rather quickly, "You are not walking across the desert to get to Windy's by yourself."

"But, Aunt Beru–" he pleaded. 

She shook her head resolutely. 

"But Biggs is visiting family somewhere, Tank broke his leg last week, and Deak seems to be permanently grounded!" Luke complained. "And I'm bored out of my mind!"

"Whining won't get you anywhere," she stated firmly. She watched as Luke's gaze lowered in disappointment and embarrassment, and she smiled. She'd gotten him. "So, you'll just have to suck it up and catch a ride with your old aunt."

Luke looked up to meet her amused gaze and the corners of his lips twitched. "You prepared for that one, didn't you?"

She responded with a playful pat on the head. "What good is having a teenaged nephew if you can't tease him every once in a while?"

Luke merely rolled is eyes.

Beru laughed. "Just give me a minute to get finished here, and then I'll take you over there."

He quickly kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Aunt Beru." He then dashed to his room to gather a few things.

She watched him go, a sympathetic smile tugging on her lips. This was no place for a boy to grow up, she mused. But it was the only safe place for him in the galaxy. Quickly putting away the rest of the dishes, she took off her apron and headed for the garage. She called loudly, "Come on, Luke."

"Coming!"

In a few minutes, they were cruising across the desert toward Windy's farm. Like the Lars, Windy's family were moisture farmers, so they had a lot in common in that respect. Beru also regarded Windy's mother as a dear friend, and the two boys would often laugh at the women's desperate need for each other's company when their husbands were away. They'd exchange recipes, complain about their respective husbands' behavior, and exchange stories about their teenage boys. Usually, they'd end up giggling like a pair of schoolgirls, which almost always drove the two boys out of the house in search of escape. 

Unfortunately for them, the boys were not as close as the two women were. Luke saw Windy as one of Fixer's buddies who was merely to be tolerated for the sake of company, and Windy saw Luke as the goofy, dreamy kid that he just didn't get. But both of them realized that on a desert planet, one couldn't get too choosy about his friends, so they made the best out of their time together.

Noting Windy's face as he made his way to the garage upon arrival, however, Luke could see that making the best out of things might be difficult on this occasion. 

"What's that look, Windy?" he demanded as he stepped into the garage.

Windy fixed him with an intensified version of the same look and answered, "It's the What's-Luke-Skywalker-planning-that-will-nearly-get-us-both-killed' look. I'm surprised you didn't recognize it."

"Oh, come on," Luke remarked easily. "When have I ever nearly gotten you killed?"

"Nearly got yourself killed," Windy argued.

Luke laughed. "That's different. Besides, it was Biggs' fault, anyway."

"Yeah, right," Windy murmured dismissively. "So, really, what's on your agenda for today? Why're you out here?"

With a shrug, Luke explained, "My aunt drove me out here with her cause she's visiting your mom and I was bored silly."

"Oh no." Windy threw Luke a look that spoke of countless agonizing sessions of listening to those women talk. 

"Exactly," said Luke, mirroring his expression. "So I felt it would be a good day to have an adventure."

Luke didn't miss a single implication in his friend's wary expression. "What kind of adventure?"

"Well, what haven't we done yet?"

"Considering that we're both barely fifteen years-old, plenty."

Luke blew his bangs from his forehead in an exasperated huff. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And you're crazy," Windy shot back.

"So everyone keeps telling me," Luke remarked dryly.

Windy shook his head, frustrated that Luke seemed bent on doing something exciting. "Well, look. I've gotta feed my dewback, so come with me and we'll think of something." He headed toward the door and bent down to grab the large crate of feed capsules. 

Luke closed the distance between them in two steps and spun Windy around excitedly. "Since when do you have a dewback?"

Windy's panic was evident in his expression. "Since last week. Why?"

Luke jumped gleefully like a two year-old. "Yes!"

"Luke, whatever you're thinking, forget it."

"Oh, come on," Luke pleaded, gripping the other boy by the shoulders. "Haven't you wanted to ride him yet?"

Windy purposefully disengaged Luke's grip. "Yeah, and I rode HER the day I got her."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "And how far did you go?"

It was obvious where this was headed, and Windy could only shrug his shoulders weakly. "We went along the farm perimeter," he muttered under his breath.

"That's it?" the other boy cried. "Well, then I think it's high time you rode that girl out into the great wide open and had some fun!" He hefted the crate and began lugging it to the garage door. "Where is she?"

Knowing he was defeated, Windy replied simply. "Around the side. I'll show you."

A half-hour later, Luke was gleefully perched atop the dewback with Windy who was trying his hardest not to enjoy himself as they rode across the desert.   
"Isn't this great?" Luke exclaimed.

Trying to appear as unaffected by their trip as possible, Windy shrugged. "I guess it's all right."

The corners of Luke's mouth curled upward at Windy's feigned lack of interest. "How fast can she go?"

That sparked a reaction. Windy quickly turned back to look at Luke who rode behind him, and shook his head vigorously. "No, Luke. I'm not going to tire her out just because you want a little excitement in your life."

"But she wants to run," Luke argued. He reached down and patted the dewback's scaly hide. "Don't ya', girl?"

The dewback seemed to rumble in agreement, but Windy continued to protest. "No way!"

Luke ignored him and kept talking to the dewback. "You want ol' boring Windy here to let you have a little fun, huh? Yes you do. Good girl."

"She's a dumb, stupid animal! She doesn't know what she wants!"

Luke began to laugh. "Relax, Windy," he giggled. "I seriously doubt that my telling her to run is going to make her–"

The beast suddenly lurched forward and began the dewback equivalent of a sprint, silencing both boys' arguments and forcing them to cling to her for dear life. As the wind whipped by his ears, Luke was actually impressed by the speed at which the large lizard was able to run. He had never seen a dewback at a gallop before, and he'd only been teasing when he'd pressed for speed, not realizing that she would actually be able to achieve quite a good deal of momentum out here in the open.   
"I'm so going to kill you, Luke!" he heard Windy cry over the sound of the wind.

Luke chose to ignore his threat and called back, "Where is she taking us?"

Windy said nothing as he tried to identify their destination. Suddenly, he swore. "We're heading for the Wastes, Luke!"

"What?"

"Hope you brought a survival pack," was Windy's reply.

"Get her to turn around!" Luke's voice rose to a panicky squeak as he surveyed the passing landscape.

"You made her run!" Windy snapped back.

Luke winced. "Not on purpose!"

Just then, the beast seemed to lose steam, and she began to slow down.

"She's tiring out," observed Windy.

Luke grimaced. Leave it to Windy to state the obvious. "So now what?" he asked as the dewback slowed to a halt. 

Windy gave him a clueless stare. "Don't really know. Guess we let her rest up?"

Luke nodded and slid off the animal's back. Windy started to follow, but Luke signaled for him to stay. "Just in case she tries to gallop again."

Windy cocked an eyebrow down at him. "Well, what makes you think I'd come back to pick you up if she did? Or if I could, even?"

Shading his eyes from the glare of the sun, Luke replied curtly, "My uncle would kill you if you didn't."

Windy looked unimpressed. "Sith knows I'm terrified of Owen Lars," he muttered dryly. 

Luke chose to ignore his comment and moved to stand by the dewback's head. Placing a hand on the animal's "snout," he murmured, "Easy, girl."

The dewback jerked her head and gave a loud, irritated snort, causing Luke to quickly yank his hand away. 

From his perch, Windy laughed. "I don't think she likes you all that much right now."

"Yeah, well I'm not too fond of her myself, either." He quickly moved to her side and climbed back up onto her back. "Let's see if she'll take us back home or if she wants to wander around in the Wastes for a while."

"Ugh," the other groaned. "Let's just hope she doesn't have a fondness for this place."

An hour later, the two sun-baked boys were still wandering about the Wastes on the back of a very independent dewback who appeared, in fact, to have a very distinct fondness for the place. 

"Do you think she'll ever turn around?" Luke grumbled.

"I don't want to hear another word out of you, Skywalker," Windy replied hotly. "Or I'm throwing you off."

Luke glared at the back of his head, but kept his mouth shut. No sense in provoking the other boy any further. After this whole ordeal, Luke would be lucky if any of Fixer's group spoke to him again. Windy would be sure to tell them all how Luke had gotten them stranded out in the Wastes while seeking adventure in the desert, and it would be another mark on his already shaky reputation. Sighing, he peered out into the desert, hoping things would get better. And soon.

Staring out at the landscape to avoid Windy's wrath, Luke noticed the danger a split second before Windy did. "Is that a--?"

"Canyon," Windy finished in alarm. Directly in front of them, a few hundred meters out, was a narrow crevice in the sand that had not been invisible from a distance. Now, however, they were headed right toward it at a steady pace, and the dewback seemed intent on bringing them right to the edge of it. Unwavering in her course, she plodded along toward the sheer drop that was coming ever closer.

"Does she see it?" Luke cried.

"She must," replied Windy. "No animal is dumb enough to walk right over the edge of a canyon."

No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than he was already questioning their validity. 

Luke shared his doubt. "Windy, I think your dewback is on a suicide mission. And we're on her back!"

Windy was frantically issuing commands to the animal, but to no avail. He couldn't lose his first pet and his only way out of this desert, but the animal did not seem to hear or care. 

"Windy, I suggest we jump before we ride her right over the edge," Luke cried.

"Luke, this is my pet!"

"Well, your pet is going to get us both killed!" He quickly started to scramble off its back as the lip of the canyon loomed right in front of them.

At that very moment, the animal seemed to snap out of her daze, and she reared back in alarm. Luke, in his scramble, was knocked off balance, and he rolled off her back to land right at the edge of the cliff. Pushing himself away from the edge, he turned in horror as the startled animal bucked, kicked, and shook with Windy still clinging to her back. Then he watched helplessly as Windy finally lost his grip and was thrown from the animal that suddenly went charging into the desert. Momentum carried Windy to the edge of the cliff and over, even as he frantically clawed at rock and sand to stop his fall.

Frozen in fear, Luke could only stare as his friend slid into the canyon and disappeared from sight. It took a second before he could find his voice. "Windy!" he cried. "Windy!"

"Help!" came the frantic reply.

Cautiously, Luke eased himself to the edge of the precipice and peered down. He spotted Windy just a few feet below him, gripping the rock wall and struggling to maintain his hold. The boy's fingers were trembling with the effort, and his feet continued to slip from every purchase they could manage as rocks went tumbling to the canyon floor about a hundred feet below. 

"Luke," his strained voice called. "Help me. I'm gonna fall."

"You're not gonna fall," Luke countered, trying to sound calmer than he felt. Judging from Windy's fingers, a fall was more than likely. "Just hang on."

"What do you think I'm tryin' to do?" was Windy's rankled answer. 

Luke looked around, searching for any sign of the packs they'd had with them. Nothing. "Damn beast rode off with our packs!" he yelled.

"What?"

"I've got nothin' up here, Windy," Luke panicked. "No rope, no survival gear, nothin'! I don't know how I'm gonna get you back up here."

"Well, think of something, Skywalker!" Windy shouted back. "'Cause I'm startin' to slip, here!"

Every swear that his Uncle had ever told him not so say poured out of Luke's mouth in the next few minutes as he searched for some way to rescue his friend. Stripping off his tunic, he'd dangled it over the edge to use in the place of rope, but it was far too short. Pulling off his pants would take too long due to his boots, so that was out of the question. Grimacing, he realized there was only one way out of this. Down.

"Windy," he called tentatively, knowing that the other boy was not going to be pleased with Luke's assessment of the situation, "there's no way to pull you back up."

"So what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"How good are you at rock climbing?"

"Huh?" Windy's gaze was unbelieving as he stared up at Luke. Realization dawned on him. "You mean you want me to try to climb up?"

Luke shook his head. "I think it would be easier if you tried climbing down instead."

This time it was Windy's turn to swear. "Is that all your blasted brain could come up with?"

"Look, I'll help," Luke started, trying to convince him. 

"And just how are you going to do that?"

Instead of answering, Luke flattened himself on his stomach at the edge of the canyon and slowly slid his legs over the edge. His feet scrambled for support as his fingers dug into the rocky crevices of the canyon lip. As he slowly lowered himself downward, his feet finally found purchase. He heard Windy's sharp intake of breath beside him.

"You're insane!" the other boy cried, his voice beginning to tremble as much as his fingers. "Now we're both in trouble."

Luke turned to his companion. "Quit wasting energy and follow me. We're gonna head sideways, toward that outcropping of rock right there." He jerked his head toward where he'd spotted the slight jutting stones.

"And how the hell am I supposed to move sideways?" Windy was clearly terrified.

Luke took a calming breath, realizing he was going to have to be the one to keep his cool. "Put your right foot right there, on that rock." Unable to point with his fingers, he was forced to use his nose to indicate the correct rock. 

"Which one?" Windy gasped. "This one?" He slid his right foot toward Luke and the rock that he'd indicated. When Luke nodded, Windy placed his foot down on the stone and was relieved when it held his weight. It took a bit of the strain off of his fingers. "Now what?"

"Hang on," Luke grunted as he shifted his own position slightly to the right. "Okay, put your fingers right up there and put your feet where mine just were."

Windy complied, but Luke could see that his arms were starting to tremble. They'd have to move a little bit faster, or Windy's proclamation that he'd fall would become a fact. He shifted to his right once again, not so easily this time, as rock debris was stirred loose by his fingers and went tumbling down the wall. When he'd finally managed to get a handhold, he motioned to Windy to slide into his former position. This continued until they were almost to the rocky lip that Luke had indicated. It was then that Luke noticed that his own arms were beginning to ache and tremble. If he was beginning to tire, Windy must be in agony. He tried to quicken his pace. His fingers slid into the next crevice and he shifted his weight. The sandstone didn't hold.

Luke felt his hand hold give, a fraction before he felt himself sliding downward. His cheek scraped along the rock and his fingers tensed, straining to catch on something before he fell to his death. His foot struck solid rock, and he quickly dug his fingers into whatever holes he could find in the surrounding rock wall. His downward motion stopped abruptly, and he drew a trembling breath.

"Luke! Luke, you okay?!" 

Realizing that he'd squeezed his eyes shut during his slide, Luke opened them again and looked up at Windy's terrified expression. "Yeah," he croaked out of a mouth bone dry from fear. Swallowing to work moisture back onto his vocal chords, he tried again. "Yeah, I'm fine." His cheek burned like fire and his hands stung from scraping along the wall trying to find a hold, but he was in one piece. "I don't recommend following my route down, though."

Windy managed a weak laugh. "So now what?"

Luke didn't know how to answer. He was at a loss as to how to talk Windy down, seeing as he'd nearly killed himself. Then it hit him. He'd slid down the rock face, not fallen or tumbled. That must mean that it was a steep slope, not a rock wall. Maybe his route was the best way down. "Do you mind getting a little scraped up?" he shouted upward.

"I'd rather not, thanks."

"The canyon wall is on a slope, I think. The best way down might actually be what I just did."

Windy swore at the top of his lungs. "Luke, are you out of your mind!"

Windy's exclamation had the corners of Luke's mouth twitching in spite of himself. "Actually, I think I am. But we've still got to make it down, and I don't know if there is another way."

Any further comment from Windy went unsaid as the boy's handhold chose that moment to crumble into rock and sand. Whether he wanted to or not, he was now sliding toward the canyon floor, scrambling to stop himself even as he realized the futility of his efforts. Seeing his friend's frantic slide down the wall, Luke allowed himself to begin sliding as well. Windy hit the canyon floor first, rolling onto the ground and coming to lie upon his back. Luke tumbled to lie beside him seconds later. 

The two boys remained still for a moment, panting and wincing from numerous cuts, scrapes and bruises. After a moment, Luke spoke up.

"You alive, Windy?"

Windy groaned. "I think so. Otherwise, I wouldn't hurt this much."

Luke offered a weak laugh. "Well, I guess you decided to take my suggestion at least."

"Not intentionally," snorted Windy. "I lost my grip."

Shifting to a sitting position and grimacing at all the aches and pains in his banged up body, Luke sighed. "At least we're still alive."

Windy remained prone on the ground. "That's not saying much. We've got no food, no water, and no transportation." He blinked at the sky. "And it'll be getting dark soon."

Still taking inventory of his body, Luke stood. His cheek and his palms were on fire, and his shoulder felt a bit out of whack, but nothing appeared to be serious. At least his legs appeared to work fine. "So, we'll just have to hike back."

That brought Windy up to sit and stare at Luke in disbelief. "Travel the Wastes on foot?"

"People have done it."

"Yeah, crazy people! Like that weird Kenobi guy they tell stories about."

Luke sighed at his companion's pessimism. "Look, if he can do it, we can do it." He extended his arm down to help Windy up.

Windy grudgingly took his arm, but winced in pain as he started to stand. "Shavit! My ankle!" He dropped back to the ground with a quick intake of breath."Sith, that hurts!"

With a furrowed brow, Luke dropped to his knees beside the other boy. "Which ankle?"

"The right one," groaned Windy "I should've known better than to come out here with you. You're bad luck!"

"Thanks," Luke replied distractedly as he tried to examine the injury. Moving it slightly he asked, "Does this hurt?"

"Sithspawn, yes!"

Satisfied, Luke lowered the injured ankle and sighed, "Well, at least it doesn't seem to be broken."

"How the blazes would you know if it's broken or not?"

Luke looked up at his friend's face with an expression that clearly showed that the answer was obvious. But as he was about to explain how he knew, he suddenly realized that he really had no idea how he knew. Luke froze, wondering how he'd been so sure that the ankle wasn't broken. How had it happened that he'd almost seen the bones in his mind's eye? That he'd been able to tell that the injury was more than likely a simple sprain or strained ligament? Feeling like a total fool, he simply stammered, "I j-just know."

Windy just stared at him for a moment before saying, "You're a real freak, Skywalker."

Still baffled and unable to come up with a suitable retort, Luke stared at the ground quietly. It was a long and uncomfortable period of silence that followed as both boys tried to assess the situation and figure a way out of it.

Realizing that sitting and thinking would get them nowhere, and that Luke wasn't about to start talking, Windy decided to try to reopen the channels of communication. Of course, he would do it his way. "By the way, Skywalker, your face looks awful."

Luke glanced up at him, putting a hand to his tender cheek as he did so. It was raw, sticky, and painful from being scraped along the rocky wall. He could feel the blood starting to cake to his skin and he grimaced. "Hope it doesn't leave a scar."

"Planning on being a ladies man?" Windy teased.

Luke grinned. "Holovids, actually," he joked in response. Both boys laughed weakly.

The tension broken, Windy turned back to the situation at hand. "So, what do you think we should do?"

"Well, as you pointed out, we've got no food, no water, and no transportation. And you've got a twisted ankle." He paused. "Which means, our best bet is to try to immobilize that foot and stick to the original plan."

"You mean try to hike out of here?"

Luke nodded. "Unless you want to stick around and keep the womp rats company."

As if punctuating his words, there appeared at that moment one of the very animals Luke had just mentioned. Crawling along the wall as though investigating the clamor the two boys had made by falling into the canyon, a meter-long, hair covered rodent began making it's way toward them. Although usually a pack hunter, this womp rat appeared to be alone, which was highly fortunate. One was usually bad enough.

Rising swiftly to his feet, Luke snatched a fist-sized rock and spun on the creature in one swift motion, hurling the rock with as much force and precision as he could muster. The rodent, still about fifty yards away, dodged the missile easily, but he appeared to be discouraged from his prey. He did not turn away, but he did not move another step toward them either. Luke snatched a second rock and threatened it once more.

"Go away!" he shouted as he launched the second stone toward the animal. Again, the creature dodged the stone, but he seemed to get the message and sauntered away into the rocks. 

Luke turned back toward Windy. "Still want to hang around?"

But Windy was already struggling to his feet. "I'll hobble along with you, so long as you keep a few of those rocks handy."

Luke grinned dryly. "Deal. Now let's see if we can find our way out of here."

The canyon soon became engulfed in shadow as the twin suns neared the horizon, but still the two boys walked on. Luke could tell that Windy was bravely trying not to gasp in pain with each step, but it was obvious how painful his injury was. For his own part, Luke was holding up rather well, although the side of his face throbbed and his hands were practically useless through the scratches and the pain. His arm muscles were not in much better shape, and he imagined that Windy's shoulders must have been aching twice as much as his own were. After all, Windy had had to hold on for nearly twice as long before taking the same slide down the rocky wall. Luke noted, however, that Windy appeared have fewer scrapes than he did. But then again, the trade off had been a twisted ankle. One that was becoming increasingly difficult to walk on in this blasted canyon that appeared to have no end.

"Why don't we stop for a minute?" Luke suggested, sensing the other's pain.

Windy shook his head. "I want to get out of here as quickly as we can."

Realizing that he was going to have to insist, Luke put a hand on each of the other boy's shoulders and gently lowered him to a rock. "Sit down. Get your weight off that foot for a second."

"I'm fine, Luke," Windy argued. "I just want to get home." He made no effort to stand again, however.

Luke noticed. "I want to get home, too. But there's no sense pushing it if it's going to make me have to carry you half the way."He looked around and added, "Besides, at the rate we're going, we won't get home until tomorrow at the earliest. So I don't think a few minutes is going to matter all that much."

"Tomorrow?" Windy sprang to his feet, ignoring his throbbing ankle. "What do you mean, tomorrow?"

Raising his hands in a placating gesture, Luke answered calmly, "Windy, take a look around. We're deep in the canyon, there are more shadows than sunlight, and the more we walk the more likely we are to get lost. I think it would be better to rest now and get your ankle better so that we'll be better able to get home at all."

Dropping back down to sit on his rock, Windy shook his head in disbelief. "We are so dead. My parents will kill me, your uncle will kill you, and that's only if the Sandpeople and womp rats don't get to us first! How did I ever let you talk me into this?"

"It didn't take much."

"It was your stupid idea! See if I ever join you on one of your crazy adventures again!"

"Let's just try to make the best of the situation."

"The best?" cried Windy, turning red in fury. "The best will be if I kill you myself to make me feel better about this whole damn thing, Luke! That's what the best would be! I'm sick and tired of you and your crazy ideas! Always getting yourself and the people around you into trouble! Always dreaming about being a hero and going on adventures! When are you going to grow up, Skywalker? You're a farmer! You're no hero! And neither is Biggs! You two are just a bunch of losers who can't get over the truth that you are always going to be losers! You live on Tatooine! This isn't Alderaan! This isn't Corsuscant! It ain't even Dantooine! It's Tatooine, the planet farthest from the center of the universe as you're going to get!"

"Just shut up, Windy!" Luke screamed, matching him tone for tone, and anger for anger. "I know who I am and I know where I'm from! And I'm not going to sit here and let someone with no dreams and no desires tell me that I'm a loser and will never get anywhere! My father was a pilot! He got off this rock! And so will I!"

"Your father is dead, Skywalker!"

Luke felt the center of his body grow cold as ice as his rage rushed to his cheeks and his fist. In an instant, his whole world went white hot and thunderous as the blood roared through his ears, deafening him and blinding him to thought and action. He felt his body move through the haze of fury, but he was powerless to recognize or control it. In the next instant, he was clutching his aching knuckles while Windy lay crumpled at his feet. Luke's face and body were covered in a sheen of cold sweat, and he was panting as realization dawned on him. He'd somehow just decked Windy. And he didn't even remember doing it.

Suddenly weak and shaky, he sat down on the rock Windy had previously occupied and tried to collect his thoughts. He'd always had a temper, but he'd never done anything like that before. Trembling, he ran a hand through his damp hair and drew a deep breath. How hard had he hit him? Was Windy hurt? He'd have to apologize, that was certain. He'd have to apologize for what he'd done. But he wasn't sure how to go about doing that. He didn't know what to say. He'd never been any kind of fighter. A racer, but no fighter. This was something new. The guilt that now washed over him began to settle cold and hard in his stomach where the rage had just been. He felt ill. He felt confused. He felt wrong.

"I'm so sorry."

Luke blinked. Had he spoken? He didn't remember actually saying the words.

"I should never have said that. I'm so sorry."

Blinking again, Luke focused his eyes on the face of his companion. Windy was now looking back at him with a countenance that spoke of pain and shame intermingled. It took Luke a few moments to realize that it had been Windy who had apologized. But why had Windy apologized to him? Wasn't it Luke who had done the wrong?

"Luke, I'm sorry," Windy pleaded. "Say something."

Baffled, bewildered, and sick with confusion and the aftermath of his rage, Luke tried to answer. He couldn't. Swallowing back nausea, he shook his head, and rubbed his sore fist, and searched for a way to explain to Windy that it was he who was at fault. When at last he managed to form words, the words he spoke weren't exactly what he intended.

"You okay?"

Windy now looked as baffled as Luke did. "Yeah, Luke," he finally stammered. "I'm okay. Though you sure got me good. I'll have a shiner tomorrow, for sure."

Luke only nodded, still unable to gather the right words to apologize. "I was worried I'd hurt you."

Windy gave a weak laugh. "Well, you did. But I definitely deserved it." He paused. "I'm really sorry, Luke. I had no right."

Again, Luke nodded. He still wanted to apologize, to erase the guilt that sat inside him like an unwelcome parasite, but he no longer felt it was necessary. What had transpired would suffice. "We'll camp here, tonight. We'll rest up, with one of us on watch at all times, and then get an early start tomorrow. I'll take first watch."

Windy shook his head in argument. "I'll take first watch. With my ankle and my eye throbbing like they are right now, I won't get much sleep anyway. Besides, I kinda' owe you after that."

Confused, but not amazed at the other boy, Luke stared at him and nodded. He was suddenly very tired, very weary, and very anxious to put what had just happened behind him. The knowledge that his uncle would skin him as soon as he found out about this didn't even really seem to matter. The burden of his error weighed heavily on his conscience. He'd never been so angry, or so physically aggressive. It scared him. 

Sliding off the rock, he crossed over to a cool patch of dirt near the shaded wall, and stretched out. Squeezing his eyes shut, he wished for sleep to come. At least for a short time, this day would be forgotten.

It wasn't long before Luke snapped awake in sudden alarm. The sun had set, and darkness now engulfed the canyon. Darting his eyes about to get his bearings and locate Windy, Luke frantically searched his mind for the cause of his unexplained fear. Had he heard something in his sleep? Had he been having a nightmare? As his gaze fell upon Windy, seated just a few yards away and calmly staring up at the stars, Luke began to feel ridiculous. The canyon was quiet, and Windy didn't seem the least bit concerned about anything. So what had frightened him?

Pushing himself up from the ground, he tried not to appear anxious as he moved quietly to Windy's side. "How's it going, Windy?" he whispered.

"Not bad," was the reply. Windy turned to study Luke with a puzzled expression. "You ready to take the next shift or something?"

Luke nodded. "Yeah, I'll take over."

"You sure?" Windy's voice seemed odd in the darkness. Almost fearful. Or was it just Luke's imagination?

"Yeah, I'm sure," he answered, laying a reassuring hand on Windy's shoulder. He was dismayed when the other boy flinched at the touch. He tried to get a good look at Windy's face, but it was hard to make out in the darkness. "You okay?"

Windy rose and crossed over to the spot where Luke had been asleep just a few moments earlier. Without turning to face him, he answered, "Yeah, I'm okay. Just tired." He plopped down on the ground and mumbled, "Have a good watch, Skywalker." And that was that. 

Luke was startled by the abruptness of the entire exchange. Staring at the spot where his companion had stretched out on the ground, he sat and wondered at the boy's strange behavior. Something he'd done had somehow scared Windy, but he wasn't sure what or how. Luke wasn't exactly used to being feared. Most commonly, he was the one being bullied, usually because he was so different from the others at Anchorhead. The only people he could truly relate to were Biggs and Tank. They were the only boys beside himself who even considered the possibility of an exciting existence somewhere else, away from the dullness of Tatooine. But even they were people Luke tended to look up to. It was never the other way around. And being feared actually scared him.

"Windy?" He hoped the other boy hadn't fallen asleep yet.

The reply was a muffled, "Hmm?"

Luke breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to mend the situation, and quickly. Something was nagging the back of his mind, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Something that seemed almost like it was trying to warn him of some impending danger. Remembering the last time he'd felt such a sensation, he refused to ignore it. And if what he felt was right, the last thing he wanted was a companion who was uncomfortable in his presence.

Taking a deep breath, he plowed ahead. "Windy, I'm sorry for decking you back there. I don't know what came over me, or why I did what I did. It was wrong of me to react that way. And you definitely did not deserve it." He paused, waiting for a reply from the other boy. He heard shuffling and was able to make out the dim form of Windy sitting up in the darkness to stare back at him.

"What about all that stuff you said?" the boy finally spoke after a time.

Luke stared back at him, thoroughly puzzled. He didn't remember saying anything at all. Then again, if not for the blackening circle under Windy's eye, he wouldn't have known he'd punched him either. "Windy, I don't even remember what I said to you, but whatever it was, I didn't really mean it." What exactly had he said? Was that what had scared Windy so much?

Windy remained silent for a long moment. Luke began to wonder if he was ever going to speak up. Then finally, "Yeah, I guess it was just the anger talking." Windy's voice began to sound more normal with those words. 

Still curious about what he'd said, answered, "Yeah, I guess it was."

"You'd never be so bold!" Windy laughed outright.

Luke forced himself to laugh along, although he wondered what it was that he'd said that had been "so bold." Putting more humor than he felt into his voice, he verbally agreed, "I guess not." He smiled. At least, Windy had loosened up again. He could feel better about that, couldn't he?

"So you gonna' tell me how you did that trick?" 

Windy's question brought a curious frown back to Luke's face. "What trick?"

"The one where you managed to nearly choke me and punch me at the same time."

Luke suddenly felt like he was being choked himself. Swallowing hard, he tried to push back the growing panic he inexplicably felt at Windy's words. Or was it the growing sense of impending danger in the back of his mind? Fighting against rising fear on two fronts, Luke nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the cry that suddenly echoed through the canyon.

"What was that?" screamed Windy. 

Voiceless and breathless, with his mouth agape, Luke shook his head in utter incomprehension.

The cry repeated itself. The high-pitched wail made both boys' blood run cold as it traveled along the walls of the canyon and was then joined by several more of the same. The faint sound of claws scraping sand and rock could also be heard below the din of the numerous shrieks, and the boys looked at each other in horror.

"Womp rats?" Windy whispered.

Luke nodded dumbly.

Windy's eyes glazed over in fear. "How many rocks you got by you?" he stammered.

Luke tried to swallow in a throat suddenly gone dry. "Not enough," he croaked.

By the sound of it, an entire pack of the giant rodents was now travelling through the canyon on the very same path that the boys had taken this afternoon. More than likely, they were following the scent of the two wounded companions, which meant that an escape was highly improbable, unless they thought of something very quickly. Individually, womp rats were not terribly difficult to deal with; but as pack hunters, they were lethal. Some of the leaders could grow to almost two meters in length. Throwing rocks at them was now the furthest thing from Luke's mind. So were any other potential solutions. 

Breathing rapidly, the two boys pressed themselves back against the canyon walls and into the shadows, hoping that at least they wouldn't give themselves away by sight. 

Luke tried not to stammer as he asked, "Windy, how fast can you run on that ankle?"

Now it was Windy's turn to be speechless. He shook his head, which was enough to tell Luke that it wasn't going to happen.

The cries and scurrying noises grew louder, and Luke's breathing quickened as he pressed his back even harder against the wall, hoping it would swallow him. That suddenly gave him an idea. Maybe if they moved along the wall, they'd find a cave or a crevice they could hide in until morning. He nudged Windy beside him, and the two of them began to scramble along the walls themselves, searching for any kind of hiding place the canyon could afford. 

Only solid rock greeted them in their search, as the cries grew ever closer. Desperate, Luke picked up a handful of large stones to hurl as a last resort. He wasn't going to go down without a fight. Maybe if he hit a few, the rest would get discouraged. As unlikely as that scenario was, Luke clung to it as a lifeline. The situation didn't seem about to get any better than that. 

To Luke's dismay, at that moment, it suddenly got worse.

An ear-splitting roar shook the canyon and caused Luke to freeze instantaneously as he reached for another rock. Beside him, Windy succumbed to his fear and dropped to the ground in a dead faint. Too afraid to check on his companion, and wishing his own brain would opt for the same response to the sheer terror that gripped him, Luke flattened himself against the rock wall and didn't even dare to breathe. He was peripherally aware of the retreating noises of the womp rat pack, but he was too afraid of whatever it was that had made that horrendous sound to be thankful. 

"Luke Skywalker?"

Luke heard the human voice as though the words had been spoken right into his left ear. The sound of it at that moment was enough to finally push him over the edge of his terror. With a strangled gasp, he slid down the wall and collapsed into a lifeless heap beside the unconscious boy who had done the same only moments earlier.


	3. Part 3

Youthful Mistakes: Part 3

By KnightMara

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. The Great Flanneled One does! All hail George Lucas!

This takes place immediately following Youthful Mistakes: Part 2.

Luke struggled back to consciousness in a disoriented haze. Fighting the nightmarish fear that seemed to grip him even in his semi-awakened state, he bolted into a sitting position before his eyes had had a chance to adjust to the darkness around him. The gentle grip on his left arm had barely registered in his awareness when, all of a sudden, his voice began to work once more and the scream that had been caught in his throat before his fainting spell emerged as a full-throated yell.

His own cry was echoed by Windy's as the other boy also returned to consciousness, terrified and bewildered in the darkened canyon.  
"Easy, there," an unfamiliar, gentle voice spoke. "You've nothing more to fear, young ones."

Luke blinked his eyes and turned toward the voice. As his vision adjusted, he was able to discern the face of a gray-bearded man with bright eyes and a soft smile. Dressed in desert robes of dull brown, he knelt beside the two boys who stared mutely back at him.

Luke could not shake the feeling that he'd seen this stranger before. That they were somehow connected in some odd manner that he was at a loss to explain. A million questions raced through his mind as he gazed upon the man's features, but his lips seemed unable to form the words.

It was Windy who spoke first. "The womp rats?" he asked breathlessly.

The old man's gaze left Luke as he regarded the other boy. "They're gone, young man." His slightly accented voice was soothing, although Luke still felt ill at ease.

Windy however, seemed very relieved. "Whew, I thought we were goners."

With a quick smile and a gentle laugh, the man replied, "Well, I can assure you both that you are very much alive."

Luke, still speechless, studied the man while his attention was on Windy. His face was wrinkled with age and exposure to the harsh climate, and, although they seemed full of an energy and power Luke could not begin to fathom, his eyes were sad. As those eyes turned once again to gaze upon Luke, the boy could not help but feel that they were somehow gazing into the very core of his being. He shivered, wishing he could pull some sort of cloak around himself to shield him from the penetrating force of the old man's stare. Luke's mind suddenly jumped to his brief flash of anger with Windy, and he felt strangely as though the old man had exposed his shameful transgression. Awash with guilt, Luke pulled his eyes downward to stare at the ground. He couldn't stand the gaze any longer.

"So tell me, Young Luke," the old man's voice broke into his thoughts, "what brings you and your companion to this canyon in the middle of the night?"

Shocked, Luke felt his power of speech return. "H-how did you know my name?"

The old man smiled. "I know a lot of things about you, Luke Skywalker."

Before Luke could scramble together some form of response, Windy chirped up.

"You're Crazy Ben Kenobi, aren't you?"

At his presumptuous question, the old man chuckled softly. "Indeed, I am, son," he replied, mirthfully. "And who might you be?"

Luke watched as Windy brushed sand out of his dark curls and smirked. "Don't you know my name, too?"

"I'm afraid this planet is a little too big for me to know everybody," Kenobi answered with a shake of his head.

Windy snorted. "Yeah, but you know Wormie, here."

At Kenobi's questioning gaze, Luke quickly replied, "That's Windy. We rode his dewback out into the Wastes, and it dumped us in here and took off."

"Your lousy idea!" Windy snapped.

"Shut up!"

"Easy now, boys," soothed Kenobi, laying a hand on each of the boys' shoulders. "What's done is done. Arguing about it can't help you. Now let us simply concern ourselves with getting you home before your families take you for dead."

"We tried to find our way out of the canyon," Luke tried to explain, "but it goes on and on forever. And Windy hurt his ankle, so it's hard for him to walk. And we've got no water, no food, no supplies, nothing. So I was using rocks to scare away the womp rats. But then there were a whole lot of them. And there was this roar; I don't know what it was. And my uncle is going to kill me when I get home." Luke had no idea why he was rambling, but the words kept tumbling breathlessly from his lips until Windy reached over and smacked his leg.

"Stars, Wormie!" he exclaimed. "No wonder Biggs always says you've got a mouth like a crater!"

Clamping his mouth shut, Luke looked back down at the ground and muttered, "Sorry."

He heard the soft sound of barely muffled laughter and looked back up to see Ben Kenobi chuckling lightly, although he was trying to hide it. "It's all right, Luke," the old man spoke at last, regaining his composure. "You've had a bit of a scare, that's all." As Luke continued to stare, Kenobi reached into his cloak and pulled out what looked like a small medkit. Shifting toward Windy, the old man began, "Now let's see if we can't help that ankle of yours a bit."

Luke sullenly watched as Ben Kenobi tended to Windy's ankle. He didn't need to be reminded that he'd been scared back there, even if it was true. Uncle Owen was always reminding him about how childish it was to show fear, especially on a world like Tatooine where bravery was the one factor that determined whether one would survive or not. And Luke was no child. He was fifteen years old, had helped his uncle fight off sandpeople on numerous occasions with his blaster rifle, and had even cheated death once--at least, that was how he liked to refer to his speederbike incident. Even though he knew he had fainted back there, he was sure he'd had a good reason for it.

"What chased away those womp rats, anyway?" Luke suddenly asked.

Kenobi looked up from dressing Windy's ankle, and answered with a sly grin, "Sounded like a Krayt dragon call."

"There was a Krayt dragon here?" cried Windy in utter shock.

Luke stared at Kenobi, waiting for an answer.

"Well," Kenobi replied at last, "it sounded like one." He paused before adding, mysteriously, "But things aren't always as they seem. I certainly didn't see one here when I found you two."

"Then what--" Windy began, before Luke cut him off.

"How did you find us?"

Again, Kenobi laughed that soft laugh of his before answering. "Depending on your point of view, one might say that it was you who found me. After all, I live out here in the Wastes, and have for quite some time. From my knowledge, the two of you belong on the outskirts of Anchorhead. So, in a sense, your own wandering brought you to me. All I did was come across your unconscious bodies on my walk."

Unsatisfied, Luke gave him a long, hard glare. Clearly, the old man was skirting the fine edges of truth without crossing into falsehood, and very cleverly at that. He'd seen his uncle use this same tactic on a number of occasions. Luke never pressed his uncle when he did this, and he wouldn't press the old man, either. In spite of his evasions, there was something about Kenobi that told Luke to trust him. 

As Luke watched, Kenobi finished fastening a splint to Windy's injured leg and asked, "Now, how does that feel, son? Not too tight?"

"It's okay," answered Windy with a nod. "Will it still hurt to walk on it?"

"I'm afraid so. But that splint will keep you from injuring it further, and it should ease the pain a bit." He began searching in his medkit again as he spoke. "It's a simple sprain. Nothing broken. But had you kept walking on it as you were, it probably would have become extremely difficult to walk on it at all in short order. Untreated sprains can grow quite painful."

"Thanks," Windy muttered.

Kenobi nodded in reply, and turned toward Luke with a small tube in his hand. "Now, it's your turn. Let me see if I can't keep those scrapes on your cheek from scarring you for life."

Luke had forgotten all about his own injuries, and gingerly touched the caked blood on his face with a questioning look. "You don't really think they'll scar, do you?"

In response, Kenobi began to dab some of whatever was in the tube onto the scrapes. "I'm sure that they're not nearly that bad. And this cream should help them to heal. You're likely to get a lot of scars in your life, Luke. No need to start acquiring them now."

"Hear that, Luke?" Windy laughed. "Even he knows how accident-prone you are!"

Luke's anger flared once more, but Kenobi's voice stopped him short of doing anything in retaliation.

"Tendencies toward skull fractures aside, young Windy, I feel that our Luke may have a greater destiny than even he knows." 

Luke's bottom jaw dropped. So that's why he recognized the old man! He was the one at the hospital! The one he'd thought he'd imagined all this time! But why had he been there? How had he known? What had he been doing? What exactly did this old man know about him? What was all this stuff about destiny? And why did he keep popping in and out of his life like this? With all of these questions and more forming and running through his brain, it was little wonder that the question that came out of his mouth was not what he intended.

"Who are you?"

Windy giggled. "He already told you. He's Old Ben Kenobi, the Wizard of the Wastes and all that!" Turning back toward Kenobi, Windy joked, "No offense, but if you think Luke has this great destiny, then you're as crazy as people say!"

Luke stared at Windy in horror, wondering how he could sit there and say such things to the old man who'd just come out into the middle of a canyon in the middle of the night to help them. Not to mention, neither of the boys knew Kenobi in any way, and had no idea how he would react. 

To Luke's relief, the old man merely chuckled. Then he began to laugh. Loudly. Rising from the ground and helping the two boys up as he did so, Kenobi continued to laugh heartily at Windy's brazen comment.

Confused, Luke stammered, "You aren't offended, sir?"

"Why, no!" answered the light-hearted hermit. "After living in the desert for as long as I have, it's nice to know I have a reputation at all!" Wiping away the tears that had sprung to his eyes during his fit of laughter, he motioned. "Come along now, and let's get you two home."

Luke and Windy exchanged curious glances before following the old man as he led them out of the canyon and into the open Wastes. It would be quite a journey. Luke only hoped he had the chance--not to mention the courage--to seek the answers to all of the questions he hoped to ask the mysterious Ben Kenobi. 

"So, I'm barely hanging on by my fingers," Windy was explaining to Ben Kenobi animatedly, "and Wormie here is the one who misses a step and goes sliding down the canyon wall." The boy laughed derisively at Luke, who scowled.

"It wasn't my fault the rock crumbled," he countered. "Besides, you followed me down a few seconds later."

Windy gaped, incredulous. "Who'd been hanging on forever while you tried to form a plan in that messed up noggin of yours?"

Luke threw him a sharp glance, but catching Ben Kenobi's curious gaze out of the corner of his eye, he refrained from any further retorts. Instead, he stared straight ahead of him, peering into the darkness of the desert night as they steadily made their way toward Windy's home. 

Luke had fought desperately to be taken home first in the hopes that his Uncle Owen would be somewhat less enraged at the circumstances if another boy was present. Unfortunately, Windy's was the closer homestead, and logic suggested that they go there first. Especially considering Windy's injury. For the most part, Old Ben Kenobi's splint had held up rather well through the journey, as the boy had only begun to limp again in the past half-hour. Luke was actually amazed at his endurance. His own legs were burning with the strain of such a long walk through the desert, and more than once he'd acknowledged the nudges of the other boy only to realize that he'd nearly been sleepwalking. Of course, he was quick to note that Windy hadn't been up and working on vaporators since dawn. For all Luke knew, he'd slept until he and Aunt Beru had arrived at the house. In all honesty, it was perfectly understandable for Luke to be as exhausted as he was.

And yet, he refused to show it. So ingrained were his Uncle's lessons on not showing weakness and never complaining in front of strangers, Luke merely bit his lip and pressed on. Consolation came in the thought that he could complain to Aunt Beru in the morning. She was always a good one to listen. 

"So tell me," Ben Kenobi's words broke into his thoughts, "how did you get that black eye, young man?"

Luke shot Windy a frantic look. Was he going to tell the truth? How much was he going to say? Luke felt his pulse begin to race and beads of sweat explode across his forehead in spite of the chilly air. What would the old man think if he found out about his enraged attack?

Why did it suddenly matter so much to Luke what Ben Kenobi thought?

Shifting his focus from Windy to Kenobi, Luke noticed that the old man's eyes were not fixed on Windy, the boy to whom he'd asked the question, but instead, they were fixed upon him. Under his forceful gaze, Luke shifted uncomfortably; yet he felt compelled to answer with the truth.

"I did it," he answered before Windy could reply. Lowering his gaze, he added, "I hit him."

Kenobi stared at him without speaking for a moment. "And why did you do that, young Luke?"

Still staring at the sand and the barely discernable shadows of his treading boots, he shrugged. "He said some stuff, that's all."

"And you hit him because of it." It wasn't a question. "Because you were angry with him."

Luke felt his heart stop within his chest. Kenobi seemed to be reading his thoughts or something. Luke risked a sideways glance at the old man, and was mildly relieved to see that he was no longer looking back at him. He still felt uneasy, however, at the fact that the hermit seemed to already know the whole story. It was as though the questions were asked for Luke's benefit, to get him to think and talk about the incident, and to contemplate the weight of his actions. It gave him the vague impression of being in school, and Luke wondered if this man had ever been a teacher. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

"I apologized," the boy offered lamely. He didn't like being scrutinized and he wanted the old man to drop the subject.

"Yes," Kenobi nodded, still not looking at Luke. "But does that really undo the hurt that you did?"

"It really wasn't all that bad," Windy remarked quickly in Luke's defense. This was surprising, considering that Windy had never attempted to defend Luke before, and that he had to lie to do so. Windy could often be annoyingly honest.

"Is that so?" Old Ben Kenobi asked, looking from one boy to the other. "Then why does it seem like there's more to this than you two are telling me?" 

Windy's eyes grew as wide as saucers as he stared at the old man. Luke could tell he was shocked by the hermit's insight.

Luke, however, wasn't. "What does it matter?" he exclaimed angrily. "Can't two boys have a fight without having to go on trial for it? I mean what's the big deal? Fixer gets into a fight at least two times a week! So it's not important!"

"It all depends on the circumstances," Kenobi replied softly.

Luke threw his arms up in exasperation. "Great! Now you sound like my uncle! Circumstances, consequences, responsibility!" He was tired, cranky, and his patience had worn thin. He knew what he was about to face once he got home, and he knew he was letting it affect him now. That knowledge didn't stop him, however. "I guess that just settles it, then. Luke Skywalker can't do anything right! Windy, you said so yourself. I'm just an accident waiting to happen! Well, it must be true if I'm getting lectured on circumstances for my behavior from a total stranger!" 

In spite of the burn in his legs, Luke increased his pace to put some distance between himself and the others. He knew his behavior would be described by his uncle as irrational, but he didn't care. He knew he'd just been rude to both a stranger and an elder, and he didn't care. He knew that without the old man he'd be as good as dead in the desert night, and he didn't care. Nothing mattered except the struggle to rid himself of the irritation and impatience that coursed through him. He didn't like feeling like this. He didn't like it at all.

He heard Windy's accelerating footsteps as the other boy tried to catch up. Luke stopped him before he could close the distance with a wave of his hand and an angry shout. "Just back off, Windy!"

"But Luke," he heard Windy protest.

Then the old man's voice broke in. "I think it best that we left him alone for a while."

Luke shook his head. Leave it to Crazy Ben Kenobi to claim he knew what was best. He continued to plow across the desert as quickly as his tired legs could manage. It wasn't long before the activity began to burn off the edginess in his emotional state. Within a few minutes, he was slowing down as the anger and irritated energy wore off. Unfortunately, both were quickly replaced by guilt.

What was wrong with him? Why had he just mouthed off in front of a total stranger who only wanted to help him? Was he just tired, or was it some personal defect of his? Could it be simply that he was a teenager? Was that just an excuse? Had he just shamed his aunt and uncle and their upbringing of him? Had he made himself out to be a horrible person? Luke bit his lip, wishing he could answer these questions but knowing he couldn't. He didn't know why he'd acted the way he had. But he felt sorry for it.

He slowed down his pace enough to let the others catch up to him before he spoke. "I'm sorry," he murmured barely loud enough for them to hear.

Windy stared at him warily, while Kenobi simply put a hand upon his shoulder and nodded in acceptance. Luke would have preferred that one of them at least had spoken, but that would have to do for now. 

The trio walked on in silence. As they crossed the desert, Luke wished fervently that this journey would simply come to an end. It was already turning into a long night. One that he was not proud of at all. The eagerness for adventure that he had experienced during the day had been replaced by a desire to forget that any of this had ever happened at all. He'd made too many of those . . .what had Biggs called them? Youthful mistakes. He hoped that with age would come the disappearance of such things. He didn't know how many more mistakes he could afford to make in his young life.

Through bleary, tired eyes, Luke could make out the dim outline of Windy's home in the distance as the night crept slowly toward dawn. It was about time, he thought wearily. They'd been walking for hours, with only the voice of Windy's incessant questions toward their guide to break the silence of the desert night. Luke had briefly wondered what had prompted his companion to suddenly become so curious about Kenobi's life; but then again, Windy was always one to get bored easily, so it was no wonder that he'd started asking questions to break the monotony.

"So you don't even go into Anchorhead?" he was asking now.

"Very rarely," the old man replied.

Windy looked puzzled in the dim predawn light. "So you live by yourself, with no neighbors, you don't go into town, you grow your own food, repair your own mechanical stuff, and never get bored?" he asked.

Kenobi nodded with a smile. "Yes, that sounds about right."

"I still don't believe it," Windy sighed, shaking his head. "How do you stand it?"

"Quite easily," the hermit replied. "In truth, there is enough activity in the desert to keep an old man like myself quite busy." He paused and added with a wink, "As you two no doubt discovered this evening."

"I'll say," the boy heartily agreed. 

There was a silence before Luke heard Kenobi ask, "And what about you, young Luke?"

"Hmmm?" Luke had only been half following the conversation and wasn't sure what he was being asked. Even if he had, he almost felt too tired to reply.

"Past your bedtime, Wormie?" Windy teased.

"Shut up," Luke managed sleepily, although the words came out sounding like a one-syllable yawn. He was excruciatingly tired and wanted nothing more than to find a place to lie down and go to sleep, although he'd settle for shoving his boot in Windy's mouth at this point. The realization that he'd gotten up at this hour yesterday drifted into his consciousness. No wonder his feet were dragging through the sand.

"Don't worry," Kenobi interjected. "We'll get you home soon."

"Fat lot of good that'll do me," Luke mumbled. "I've got a dozen or so chores that have to be done today. Yesterday was my one afternoon off. And knowing my uncle, he'll make sure I don't get any sleep before then as punishment for getting into this situation in the first place."

"Oh, I'm sure he won't do that," Kenobi replied with a sympathetic smile.

"You don't know him, sir," Windy argued. "That Owen Lars is a tough man. No offense, Luke," he added, "but you get punished for stuff that my folks just laugh at."

"No kidding," sighed Luke with a grimace.

Kenobi placed a reassuring hand on Luke's shoulder. "Things have a way of working out. You'll see."

Luke glanced back at the old man curiously, but Kenobi was staring off toward Windy's house, which had grown much closer in the past few minutes. 

"Any chance I could get some sleep at your place?" Luke asked, turning his attention toward Windy.

"Where? On the floor?" Windy remarked. "You know we've got no room."

"I know," Luke muttered. "But, damn, I'm tired!"

"Watch your language," Kenobi scolded unexpectedly.

Momentarily surprised but too sleepy to react in any way but instinctively, Luke replied, "Yes, sir." Luke looked down at his stumbling feet and kept walking. He was feeling more and more ashamed of himself with each passing moment. And the more tired he got, the more likely he was to make more mistakes. Not an encouraging prospect. Maybe he should just keep quiet for the remainder of the journey. That way he could stay out of trouble. After all, wasn't that the main reason he'd taken this little adventure in the first place? To stay out of trouble? He found himself smiling bitterly at the irony.

There was a long silence before Luke heard Windy say, "I can make it on my own from here."

Luke glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. "Are you sure?"

Kenobi seemed to share his doubt. "I'd rather we walk you all the way in."

Shaking his head, Windy dismissed their concerns. "No, it's okay. Wormie here looks tired, and I'm close enough. Besides, I don't know how my folks'll react to me being walked home by Crazy Ben Kenobi, anyway."

Smiling amusedly, the old man nodded. "If you insist, young man."

"Yeah, I do," Windy nodded. He turned to Luke with a smile. "Good luck with your uncle. And since you'll probably be grounded, I guess I should say, see you in a month or so."

Luke forced a grin. "Thanks."

"And thanks again, Kenobi, for the ankle thing and all," the boy added, turning away from Luke and the old man. 

The two watched as Windy hobbled toward his home in the brightening bluish light of dawn before they themselves turned toward the Lars homestead.

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Luke asked quietly.

"I'm sure he will," Kenobi answered. "Although, I still would have preferred to walk with him, myself."

"Windy's stubborn sometimes."

Kenobi favored Luke with an assessing gaze. "As are you, if I'm not mistaken."

"Not all that much," Luke argued, forgetting his promise to himself to remain quiet. At the old man's disbelieving stare, he amended, "Well, maybe a little. But I'm not nearly as stubborn as Uncle Owen is."

"And how are things at the Lars homestead?" Kenobi asked after a moment.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I was just being curious. After all, I told you two boys all about living in the desert. I was wondering what it was like at your uncle's."

Luke was quiet a moment, struggling to find an answer. No one ever asked him what it was like living there, and he never really thought about it too much. To do so would be to wonder about his family and the circumstances that had brought him to be raised by relatives other than his parents. His uncle usually discouraged him from even mentioning his father, and so he'd let the matter remain part of that silent secret part of the mind where ideas rarely formed into words. Very rarely was it brought to the surface, and never intentionally. He recalled that moment in the hospital over a year ago. That was the last time he'd vocalized his feelings about his family. Until today. Until Windy's comment.

Still searching for words, he looked back up into Kenobi's gaze and found himself mesmerized by the old man's eyes. In the filtered light of dawn, it was hard to determine their color, but they were somehow bright and sad at the same time. Luke immediately felt a kinship with this old man, as if they shared some strange connection that was as deep as it was elusive to Luke's own consciousness. In light of this, words started tumbling out of his mouth.

"It's pretty good most of the time. When I remain on my uncle's good side, that is. With my aunt it's different. But my uncle, he's just hard on me all the time. Like he's afraid that I'm going to turn out to be a bad person. And after today, I keep wondering if he's right about that." He paused. "But they've always raised me well, and I can tell every day that they love me. Even if I'm not really theirs. But they won't tell me anything about my family or where I came from. They won't even let me ask. They just keep teaching me how to become a moisture farmer. Like that's all they want me to be."

"There are worse occupations, son," Kenobi suggested.

"Yeah, but they won't even let me try new things. They even pulled me out of school last year."

"They did?"

Luke nodded and yawned. "Uncle Owen said something about not wanting me to become a slave to the Empire with all the drivel they keep shoving at us in school. Wanted me to think for myself and form my own opinions." He stopped, noting that Kenobi seemed to have a deeply concerned look on his face. "Was he right?"

It was a moment before Kenobi answered, "This was an Imperial school, I take it?"

Luke nodded. "Perfectly Imperial. Biggs and I used to laugh at how all the teachers looked exactly the same. And they did feed us a lot of what Uncle Owen calls propaganda. About how wonderful the Empire is, and how corrupt the Republic was with all the non-humans and such that were running it, and how humans are superior, and a lot of garbage."

Kenobi was eyeing him warily. "And you don't believe any of this 'propaganda' as you call it?"

With a shrug, Luke replied, "Not really. It all sounds kinda one-sided to me. And besides, I don't think that all non-humans are inferior. I mean, come on!" He laughed. "But now all my friends are in school, and I'm working on vaporators. How fair is that?"

"It's a far cry better than that education you were receiving," Kenobi replied with a smile.

"Yeah, but I keep thinking I'll fall too far behind in case I ever want to get off this rock." Luke sighed. "Like that's ever going to happen with the way my uncle is. He doesn't let me do anything. And Windy was right. He punishes me for everything."

Kenobi smiled. "Well, young Luke, he's in a rather difficult position."

"Why?" Luke shot back. "I'm not that bad."

To Luke's further chagrin, Kenobi started to chuckle. "No, Luke, but it isn't always easy to raise a teenaged boy. Especially when that boy is a Skywalker."

Luke rolled his eyes in weary annoyance. "Yeah, and how many Skywalkers do you know?"

"I've known a few in my lifetime," Kenobi replied wistfully. 

Luke was startled. "Really?" That was the first time he'd ever heard of there being any others beside himself. "Are they still alive? Are any of them related to me?"

"Well, you're alive," Kenobi said quietly, seeming to turn suddenly sad. "But as for the others, I cannot say." He paused with a heavy sigh. "Besides, that was ages ago."

Luke tried unsuccessfully to hide his disappointment. He couldn't explain why he wished there were others. Maybe it was simply the desire to know the answers to all of the questions he could never ask at home. Or maybe it was to feel like he truly belonged somewhere. After all, he'd been an outsider all his life. "I hope I find them some day."

Kenobi smiled and patted Luke's head. "I'm sure you will, Luke. Someday."

Hearing those words coupled with the fatherly manner in which Kenobi touched him, Luke felt a surge of warm feelings for the first time since he'd woken up the day before. "Thanks," he whispered.

"For what, Luke?"

Luke swallowed. He didn't know quite how to put into words what he was feeling thankful for. "It's been a really long and terrible day. And I've been ashamed and guilty throughout most of it. So, I just want to say thank you for sort of being the one bright spot in all of this. And I also want to say I'm sorry for all of the horrible things I did and said earlier. Even the stuff you don't even know about."

"Meaning your fight with Windy?" Kenobi asked with a knowing expression.

Luke nodded. 

The hermit smiled. "Even though it isn't really my place to forgive you for your actions, I will tell you that everything is quite all right. Just remember to keep those feelings of anger and fear in control. They can be very dangerous if you allow them to control you. Always remember that."

Luke felt the remainder of his guilty feelings begin to melt away and he smiled. "I will."

As though punctuating his own returning happiness, the first sun appeared over the horizon and began to wash the sky in a golden glow. In its warm light, Luke saw the domed structure of his home not too far away. He accelerated his steps. Although still tired, he felt slightly revived, and he was eager to get home. He didn't know what would await him there, but he was ready to meet whatever he was destined to face head-on.

It was only when he looked back toward the old man that he began to hesitate. He hadn't expected to see the apprehensive expression on Ben Kenobi's face. 


	4. Part 4

Youthful Mistakes: Part 4

By KnightMara

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. The Great Flanneled One does! All hail George Lucas!

This takes place immediately after Youthful Mistakes: Part 3.

When they arrived at the perimeter fence, Luke spotted a lone figure pacing back and forth at the entrance to the house, wringing her hands. Momentarily forgetting all about his companion and his weariness, he raced toward her as fast as his tired legs could carry him. 

"Aunt Beru!" he cried as he ran.

The woman spun around and dropped her hands to her sides in surprise. "Luke!" 

Luke ran right into her open arms, and she hugged him fiercely before looking him over.

"Luke, honey," she gasped, "are you okay? Oh, your face! What happened?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he assured her over and over as her hands and eyes continued to inspect him for further injuries. "It's a long story, but I'm okay."

Satisfied for the moment, she pulled him into a tight embrace once more. "You had us scared to death. After the two of you didn't come back, we didn't know . . .."

Hearing her voice trail off, Luke pulled out of her suddenly limp arms. Her eyes were focused over his shoulder, and he followed her gaze as it rested on Ben Kenobi.

Figuring that he should make the formal introductions, Luke cleared his throat. "Aunt Beru, this is Ben Kenobi. He lives out in the desert. He actually saved us and helped us get home."

"I see," she replied absently. Then she turned sharply toward her nephew. "Saved you? From what?"

Luke swallowed hard. "Well, you see, we were kinda stuck in this canyon, and there was a pack of womp rats."

Beru silenced him with a wave of her hand. "Don't tell me. I don't know if I'm ready to hear all this now."

Luke smiled sheepishly, then turned at the sudden movement he caught out of the corner of his eye.

It was his uncle.

Luke watched as his uncle stood transfixed at the entrance to the house. His arms were crossed in front of his chest and his gaze went from the boy to the old man and back again, his expression a mixture of utter relief, bitter anger, and--strangest of all-- absolute fear. Luke was at a loss to understand the meaning behind the various emotions evident on his uncle's face, but he was frozen to the core by his uncle's countenance none-the-less. 

"Uncle Owen, I--" he began to stammer.

"Beru," his uncle spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, "take the boy inside."

Something in his uncle's tone sent chills down Luke's spine. Everything was wrong. His uncle was more upset than he'd ever seen him, and yet his eyes seemed now to be focused on the old man. Had Kenobi done something wrong? Or was Uncle Owen just too angry with Luke to look at him right now? He desperately wanted to mend the situation, but he didn't know how. "Uncle Owen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--"

Owen cut him off again. "Luke, get inside. Now."

Before a stunned Luke could reply, Beru had quickly ushered him into the house, away from the two men who now stood facing each other outside. Luke threw his aunt a questioning glance, but, once inside, she made her way toward the kitchen without a word or explanation. Left alone by the entranceway, Luke allowed himself to be drawn by curiosity back to the door. Pressing his back to the wall, he craned his neck around so that he could peer outside without being noticed.

"I told him nothing, Owen," Kenobi was saying softly. He stood facing his uncle, his hands spread, palms outward, in a gesture of peace. "He and the other boy somehow wound up in a canyon in the middle of the Wastes. I tended to their injuries and brought them back. That is all I did."

Owen remained silent for a moment before replying in quiet, harsh tones Luke had never heard him use before, "The boy is home now, so you can go." With his back to Luke, the boy could not see the expression on his uncle's face.

"He told me about the school. You did a good thing in pulling him out, Owen," Kenobi continued, unmoved by the other man's obvious desire for him to leave. "That was a very wise decision."

"Get out of here, Ben," Owen spoke through clenched teeth. "I mean it."

Kenobi took a step forward. "Owen, we need to talk."

Luke watched as Owen shook his head fiercely. "Not here, not now. Go."

"But the boy is starting to--"

"Get off the farm, Ben." Owen bit out each word, cutting him off. "You can't be here."

Kenobi softened his tone in response to the strain in Owen's voice. "Owen, there's no danger in--"

"Like hell there isn't!" his uncle cried, raising his voice above a whisper for the first time. "Take a look around! The Imperial presence is growing everywhere, even here! You are not going to bring that kind of threat to this house!"

Luke was bewildered. What did Old Ben Kenobi have to do with the Imperials? Looking at the old man standing there, Luke watched as the brightness in his eyes dimmed and gave way almost completely to the sadness that he had noted earlier. The strength that Luke had seen before was gone. Kenobi simply remained silent, staring at Owen in what looked like a sense of utter defeat. Remembering the old man's words, Luke swallowed back the anger that had begun to rise in him at his uncle's treatment of the man who had just saved his life. Owen had no right to be talking to him this way. He had no right to order him off the farm. Why, if anything, the man deserved a place to sit, a meal to eat, and maybe some payment in return for what he'd done. Not this.

"I've risked too much already," his uncle continued, his voice back to a whisper. "Now, you've done what you had to do. So get off my farm."

"I'm sorry, Owen," Kenobi said softly.

Luke bristled at the old man's apology. This was shameful!

"Leave, Ben," was Owen's only reply. "Please." 

Luke felt his chest tighten. Had he been mistaken, or had that last word been spoken somewhere between a command and a sob? Dumbfounded, he continued to stare at them, as both men stood silent and unmoving in the morning light of the desert.

Kenobi folded his hands beneath his tattered robes and bowed his head. "Then allow me to say that you've done a fine job with him, Owen. Especially considering who he is."

Owen's shoulders seemed to rise slightly at the comment. "I do the best I can," he replied, his tone softening with his voice, speaking so low Luke could barely make out the words.

Kenobi nodded, but did not move.

Owen took a step toward him. "Now go, Ben," he said once more. 

At that moment, Kenobi glanced toward the door, and Luke knew that the old man had realized he was there. Ducking back inside, knowing it was already too late, he barely caught the sound of a whispered voice before his uncle's parting words to the old man.

"Leave, you crazy old wizard!" Owen shouted as angrily as Luke had ever heard him. "Now!"

Luke waited a few more seconds before craning his neck out the door once more to see if the old man had left. When he looked back, the old man's cloak was moving off into the distance while his uncle still stood, rooted to the very spot in which he'd been standing a few moments earlier. As he studied his uncle, Luke suddenly noted the weary and sorrowful posture of his uncle's stance. Staring at the scene, he was sure something more had just transpired between the two men than what he'd been able to witness. Sighing, he wished he knew what it was.

He moved back further into the house, and waited for the inevitable punishment that would come when his uncle walked through the door. He wasn't about to take it sitting down, however. Not after the manner in which his uncle had treated the man who had saved his life. Not after his rescuer had been ordered off the farm with insults and accusations. Luke once again fought to control the anger that so desperately wanted to rise within him. Concentrating on this task, he nearly jumped at the sound of the shutting door.

It was several moments before Owen actually walked into the house, and when he did, he got no further than the exact spot in which Luke had been standing to eavesdrop. His downcast face appeared drawn and sorrowful, and his shoulders hung downward as though under a heavy burden. Luke watched silently as his uncle simply stood for a while to collect himself, and he wondered what it was that had shaken Owen so badly. Was Kenobi really connected to the Imperials? Was he really a threat to them? And why did Kenobi keep referring to Luke? There were too many questions racing through Luke's mind, and he knew he'd never get the answers from Owen or Beru. Would he have to find Old Ben and ask him directly? Or would that be too dangerous? Owen was certainly afraid of something, that was for sure.

Noting that his uncle still hadn't moved, Luke gathered up the courage to take the first step. He knew he might later regret it, but he had to do something.

"Uncle Owen," he spoke quietly, cautiously approaching his uncle. When Owen glanced at him with an unreadable expression, he continued. "He saved my life. It was my fault, my mess. But I'd still be out there if it wasn't for him."

Owen remained silent.

Luke plowed on, shaken by both the strength of his own confusing emotions as well as his uncle's silent steady gaze. "I know I deserve to be punished, and I'll accept whatever punishment you give me. But I don't understand why he had to be punished, too. He didn't deserve it, no matter what. He saved my life, Uncle. Don't you understand? He rescued us, Windy and me. And you--"

"Stay away from him, Luke," Owen said abruptly. The intensity with which those quiet words were spoken, and the gaze with which the man now held Luke silenced the boy and riveted him. "I mean it. I don't want you having anything to do with him, understand? I don't want you to try to find him, I don't want you talking to him, and I certainly don't want you letting him into this house."

"But--"

"No." Owen seemed to want an end to the conversation, and moved from the doorway, away from Luke.

His nephew watched him go, more confused than ever. Staring at his uncle's retreating back, Luke ventured to ask, "Is he dangerous?"

Owen stopped and turned, seeming to take in Luke's bewilderment. "He's just a crazy old man, Luke," he said finally, his expression softening. "A relic from a forgotten age better left undisturbed."

Luke still did not understand, but he nodded. Owen seemed satisfied and headed toward the kitchen to speak with his wife, leaving his nephew just as confused and baffled as he'd been before.

"I want you to go to your room," Owen added as an afterthought just as he was about to enter the kitchen. "And don't come out until we call you. Right now I need to talk to your aunt about . . .about a suitable punishment."

Again, Luke nodded his head mutely. He turned and headed toward his room.

"And get some sleep," he heard his uncle call from behind.

A slight grin crossed Luke's face at his uncle's words. Kenobi had been right about Owen not making him work without a decent night's rest. The grin spread into a smile at the thought of Kenobi knowing more about his uncle than he did. He entered his room and collapsed on the bed without bothering to undress or get under the covers. He was too tired to care anymore. He just wanted sleep. Dimly, his mind wandered toward thoughts of what other things Kenobi could have been right about. With a slight chuckle, he drifted off into sleep, his last thoughts on the great destiny that just might lie in store for him.

Luke awoke to the sound of a clattering dish and a barely muffled, "Oops." Blinking his eyes groggily, he was surprised to see that his room was bathed in the warm orange glow of a Tatooine sunset. Bewildered, he noticed that he was still fully clothed and laying on his stomach, on top of the covers. The events of the past two days were slow in creeping back into his sluggish consciousness. When he was finally able to piece together the circumstances surrounding such a strange awakening, he stirred.

"Oh, did I wake you?" a familiar voice spoke from what seemed like directly above him.

Flopping over onto his back, he stared into his Aunt's gentle gaze. "Not really," he lied, forcing away the last traces of sleepiness with a gentle rub of his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Nearing 1800," she answered. "Your uncle and I just finished supper, and I figured you would be hungry." She indicated the tray of food that sat on the table beside his bed.

Luke suddenly realized that he wasn't just hungry. He was starving. He'd been too exhausted before to care, but he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the day before. Pushing himself up from the bed, he reached for one of his aunt's homemade bread rolls and took a greedy bite. "Thanks," he managed to articulate around a mouthful of food. 

Beru smiled as she watched him, her look conveying to him that she was baffled at how a boy with an appetite like Luke's had managed to go for so long without food in the first place. 

"I was too tired to notice," he remarked absently, continuing to eat. He didn't immediately notice the odd expression that came across her face. When he did, he stopped eating and stared at her worriedly. "What? What did I say?"

"Nothing, it's just," she began, shaking her head as though to rid it of unwanted thoughts or memories. "Nothing, Luke."

Staring at his aunt, Luke knew it was far from nothing. But he also knew he was not going to get any other answer from her. The bread suddenly became very difficult to swallow, and he reached for his water glass to help force it down. Appetite inexplicably gone, he gulped his water uneasily and kept his eyes on his aunt. He didn't like to see her worried about anything. Especially when he wasn't sure what it was she was worried about. 

He nearly dropped his glass when she rose to leave. "As soon as you're finished, come on out so that your uncle and I can talk to you," she said without turning back toward him. Silently, she left the room and closed the door behind her, leaving a stunned teenager in her wake.

After staring at the shut door for several moments, Luke turned his attention back to his food. It was suddenly very unappealing, and he pushed his plate away from him without taking another bite. Was he that worried about what his aunt and uncle had to say? Or was it something else entirely? Something lingering in the back of his mind like a forgotten dream? Realizing that his appetite was unlikely to come back until he faced his family, he rose from the bed. He noticed for the first time since awakening that he was in the same clothes he'd worn to Windy's the day before. They were dirty, sweaty, and torn in quite a number of places. Glancing down at his hands, he took in the scrapes and bruises, and he gingerly fingered the tender side of his face. He'd been through a lot in the past two days.

But something told him that he was in for a lot more before the day's end.

Slowly, Luke descended the short flight of steps from his room and crossed the courtyard into the main living area. He was not overly thrilled about having to face his uncle about what had happened, but he wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. He knew that after being lectured by Kenobi and then witnessing how his uncle had treated the hermit, he wasn't up to an emotional ribbing. Poking his head inside, he noticed that his aunt and uncle weren't anywhere to be seen. Figuring that his uncle might still he at the table, he headed toward the dining room. As he approached, the voices of his aunt and uncle drifted toward him, although he couldn't really piece together what they were saying.

"It was as though he was reading my mind," his aunt was saying. "You don't think that it's . . ."

"Beru," Owen interrupted. "Kenobi won't be coming back here. And without him, I seriously doubt . . ."

At that moment, his uncle seemed to notice Luke's appearance in the dining room, and their conversation stopped. Luke was a bit confused, as it appeared they were talking about Kenobi again, and he still felt bad about how the old man had been treated on their farm. He said nothing, however, as he entered the dining room and faced his guardians.

"Have a seat, Luke," his uncle said tonelessly, gesturing toward the chair that Luke normally occupied at mealtimes. 

Luke complied without a word, yet he refused to lower his gaze away from Owen. If anything, he wanted to prove to his uncle that he was mature enough to take what punishment was coming to him, even if he didn't agree with his uncle's behavior earlier. Owen had always been a strong proponent of eye contact as a means of showing attentiveness and respect, and Luke wanted to do right by his upbringing as well. Steeling himself for what was to come, he prepared to face his uncle like a man, hoping that he would be able to maintain his composure.

"First things first, Luke," Owen began, taking a seat across from his nephew. "I want you to tell me everything that happened since yesterday."

Luke sighed, but did not look away. "I convinced Windy to take his dewback out for a ride. We ended up out in the Wastes when she threw us into a canyon and took off with all our stuff. We were banged up, lost, and trying to make it out of the canyon so that we could get home when Ben arrived."

"You said something about womp rats?" Beru prompted.

Luke glanced over at her quickly, and nodded. Returning his gaze to his uncle, he amended, "Uh, yeah. There were a few of 'em in the canyon, and I kept throwing rocks at them to scare 'em away. But right around the time Ben arrived, there was a pack of them headed toward us." He paused, grimacing. "I'm not really sure what happened because I kinda' fainted." He lowered his gaze briefly in embarrassment, then continued. "But then Ben arrived and led us home."

"And what did he say to you?" Owen asked sternly.

Luke brought his eyes back up to meet his uncle's, not sure why that information was terribly important. "Nothing really. Windy kept asking him questions about living in the desert, which he told us a lot about. He also sort of lectured us about fighting. Well, me mostly."

"You got in a fight?"

Luke swallowed hard at his uncle's question. Why hadn't he kept his mouth shut? "Yeah," he answered softly. "Kind of."

Owen's face was hard. "Either you did or you didn't."

Luke shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the idea of having to go through this yet again. "Windy said some stuff while we were in the canyon, and I got mad."

"So you punched him?" Beru asked in disbelief.

The tone of her voice caused Luke to flinch. His emotional control was swiftly crumbling under the assault of both guardians, and he drew a deep breath to hold onto it. He hadn't thought he'd be facing another interrogation when he'd walked in. "Look, it was no big deal. And I already got a lecture from Ben on the way home about how not to lose my temper and to control my anger and all that stuff. And I promise, it won't happen again. I felt guilty enough about it afterwards anyway."

Aunt Beru shook her head ruefully. "But, Luke, I don't understand. What made you angry enough to hit him in the first place?"

There was a question he didn't want to answer. Throwing his gaze back and forth between his two guardians, he muttered, "Nothing important."

"Luke," his uncle pressed, "answer your aunt." There was a tone in his voice that precluded argument.

Luke pursed his lips and stared at his folded hands. Studying the scrapes on them to avoid having to look in his uncle's harsh gaze, he struggled with what to say. He knew his family would be upset with him if he revealed the true motives behind his anger, and he didn't want to risk bringing up the mention of his father before them. After several moments of silence, in which he could practically feel his uncle's penetrating stare on the top of his bowed head, Luke finally whispered, "I can't."

Owen's palm hit the table top with a loud slap, causing Luke to jump. "Luke, I didn't raise you to go around picking fights with the local boys. Now either you tell me what prompted you to--"

"He mouthed off about my father, okay!" Luke cried, suddenly losing that emotional control he was struggling for as he snapped his head up to face his uncle. So much for maturity. "Happy now?"

When his uncle said nothing, Luke plowed on.

"I mean, stars! The man's dead, I never even knew him, and Windy has to throw it in my face! So, yeah, I got mad. And it ate me up afterward that I'd done it." He paused, fighting to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat and was making his voice quaver. "I know it was stupid, I know it was dumb, and I've already said that it's not going to happen again. Believe me, nothing is worth going through all this guilt for! So just tell me what my punishment is, and let me go back to my room!"

At that, Owen rose from his seat angrily. "Just who do you think you are to talk this way?"

Luke was on his feet in a second. "I haven't a clue because you've never told me!"

He hadn't been prepared for the stinging slap as his uncle's palm made contact with the uninjured side of his face. A stunned silence stretched out for several moments between them. In all of his fifteen years, Luke had never been hit by his uncle. And now, he wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Sit down," Owen said at last with a quiet edge in his voice.

Luke bonelessly dropped back into his chair.

"Now I want you to listen, and listen good." His uncle took a deep breath before continuing. "Whatever your aunt and I have told you or haven't told you is not for you to criticize. We are your family, we've raised you, and we're not about to tolerate any of this defiant attitude from you regarding your parents. You are ours, Luke. Plain and simple. Do you understand that?"

"Then why do I have his name?" Luke bit out in a whisper.

Owen sighed and shook his head, sinking back into his seat. "Because I'm not your biological father. I did not give you life, Luke." When Luke remained sullenly silent, Owen leaned forward and continued. "I know that you feel that you deserve to know about the man who did father you, but what you need to do is forget it."

Luke blurted, "But why can't I--"

Beru stepped in at that moment. Luke had forgotten that she was even there. "Luke, there are things you just aren't ready to hear right now."

"Beru!" Owen exclaimed, but his wife waived him off.

"He was a good man, Luke," she continued. "But he died because of some mistakes that he made. And truthfully, we're not ready to talk about them. Someday, Luke. But not now."

"But I'm fifteen years old," he argued. "I'm old enough."

"No, Luke," Owen replied. "And we're not going to bend on this so don't push the issue."

Luke dropped his gaze and disappointedly stared down at the floor. 

"Now," his uncle said with finality, "I'm asking you to respect our wishes and to forget it. Understand?"

Without looking up, Luke nodded his head slowly. He didn't want to agree, but he had no choice. He had to respect his aunt and uncle. After all, they were his family. He owed them that much.

"And steer clear of that wizard," Owen added.

Again, Luke nodded.

A deep silence settled in on the dining room for several moments as the three of them sat around the table and let the events of the past few minutes shift into memory. In the Lars home, the past was the past. Only the future mattered, so long as lessons learned were not forgotten.

When Luke heard his uncle take a deep breath, he knew what was about to come, and looked up at him accordingly.

"Your punishment is that you're grounded for the remainder of the month." It was stated simply, a fact. No questions asked.

Luke nodded respectfully, "Yes, sir."

And with that, the conversation was over. Luke rose from his chair and headed back toward his room. 

As he sank down onto his bed, Luke once again studied the cuts and bruises on his hands. He felt just as battered inside at the moment. He was resolved to obey his guardians and to respect their wishes, only he didn't know how he was going to do it. His uncle had told him to forget what he knew he'd be unable to. It was an unfair request, but he'd struggle to meet it. At least for the time being. 

Stripping out of his torn and dirtied clothes, he headed for the 'fresher. He needed a shower, and a part of him hoped it would make him feel better. He knew it wouldn't. A rift had opened between himself and his family once more. Only now, he didn't know how to repair it, because the rift was of his own making. Chock another one up to youthful mistakes, he thought dryly as he stepped into the shower. Wishing the shower could cleanse his soul as it did his body, he thought grimly about what the future might hold.

Even though it was the middle of the night, Luke could not sleep. He assumed it was because he'd slept most of the day away, but he had to be up at dawn to work on the vaporators. He knew he was going to be tired and cranky in the morning if he didn't fall asleep soon, but that didn't seem to make his body want to obey his will. So, glumly he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and hoping fervently that he didn't fall asleep an hour before he had to get up. That was always the worst.

He flopped over in bed, and tried to steer his mind away from thoughts of the evening's conversation. It did nothing but make him anxious to think about it, which would only make falling asleep more difficult. It took him a few moments to realize that he was biting his lip nervously, and he rolled over once more, trying to get comfortable and to ease himself out of the anxiety he couldn't banish. Shutting his eyes and curling himself up under his blankets, he again tried to make his mind a blank. Maybe if he erased all thoughts, including thoughts about trying to get some sleep, he'd be able to achieve what he so desperately sought. Focusing on his breathing, he started to relax.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open. Something was terribly wrong. He bolted up in bed, and searched the room for the source of the inexplicable fear that was now coursing through his young body. He listened to the sound of his own rapid breathing as he sat in the darkness, unable to gather an answer from the silence around him. Biting his lip once more, he also tried to figure out why this felt so strangely familiar. Reacting to a gut instinct borne from an earlier memory, he jumped out of bed and raced down the stairs. Plodding across the courtyard in utter darkness, he quickly headed toward the front door. The power was down for the night, so he slipped his hand into the manual access panel, and silently opened the door. Shivering in the cool night air, he hugged his arms across his bare chest and peered into the vast desert landscape. He heard before he saw what he desperately hoped he had not come out here to find.

Out of the darkness came the unearthly wail of an approaching Bantha.

Luke spun around swiftly and darted back inside, stumbling on the front steps in his haste. A stab of pain shot up his leg as his ankle rolled awkwardly to one side, but he quickly righted himself and hurried to his aunt and uncle's bedroom. He proceeded to pound on the door.

"Uncle Owen!" he cried. "Uncle Owen, wake up!" 

It seemed like an eternity of pounding on the door before it slid open and his uncle's irritated face appeared.

Owen growled sleepily, "Luke, what in blazes?"

"Sandpeople," the boy gasped.

All traces of sleep quickly vanished from his uncle's face. "How many?"

Luke shook his head, "I don't know."  
With a nod, Owen placed his hand on Luke's shoulder. "All right. Come with me."

"Owen, what is it?" Beru called from behind them as she emerged from the room.

"Stay there, Beru," Owen commanded as he ushered Luke to one of the storage closets his aunt and uncle always kept locked. "And toss me the manual key," he added, realizing that with the power off, he'd be unable to disengage the lock without it.

Luke's aunt quickly complied, while Luke stood just behind his uncle's shoulder, heart pounding in his chest and his mouth terribly dry. The boy who craved adventure and excitement was suddenly getting more than he could handle as he watched his uncle unlock the door and pull out two blaster rifles and two charger packs. Swiftly charging both weapons, he handed one to Luke.

"Now, remember what I taught you," he told his nephew.

"Oh, sweet stars," Beru gasped.

Owen turned to her. "Beru, just get back in that room and stay there."

Luke watched wordlessly as his aunt retreated to the bedroom, the weight of the rifle feeling strange and uncomfortable in his grasp.

"Come on," his uncle ordered, ushering him toward the front of the house. As if suddenly remembering something, he stopped. "Wait," he said to Luke, snatching the rifle out of the boy's hands. For a split second, Luke thought his uncle didn't trust him with the weapon. "Go run up to your room and grab your macros for me, boy. Or we won't see 'em clearly until it's too late."

Luke nodded in understanding and ran through the dark house to retrieve the macrobinoculars. He smiled as he remembered that they really belonged to his uncle, but Luke had played with them so much as a kid that they eventually came to be considered his. The strangeness of such a thought passing through his mind at this moment was not lost on Luke as he found them and rushed back to his uncle.

As he exchanged the macros for the rifle, his uncle frowned. "You all right, Luke?"

Luke realized he must have been referring to the slight limp he was struggling to hide. "Yeah, fine," he answered. A sore ankle wasn't going to affect his aim any.

"All right," Owen said. "Let's go."

The two of them swiftly mounted the stairs and stepped through the still-open doorway and into the night air. 

Just in time to hear a raider's cry. Luke shivered again, and this time it wasn't from the cold.

A single cry from a Tusken Raider seemed to split the cold desert night, and within moments it was joined by several others. Luke's fingers tensed around the blaster, and he looked toward his uncle for guidance. Owen, in turn, put a hand on Luke's shoulder.

"Okay, boy," he said, unearthly calm eyes staring straight into Luke's panicked ones. "I want you to take cover behind the main vaporator, you're small enough. And I'll be right over here behind the power generator." At Luke's understanding nod, he continued. "Shoot to scare them off first. They're usually frightened pretty easily. But if that doesn't work, you know what you need to do."

Luke swallowed hard and mutely nodded before moving into position behind the vaporator. He crouched down low and tested his visibility as he peered around the side of the unit. In the darkness, he couldn't actually see the Sandpeople; but somehow he knew almost exactly where they were. He couldn't explain it, and right now it didn't really matter. So long as it helped him defend the farm, anything was okay by him at this point. His pulse was racing, and he felt his damp palms begin to slip along his grip on the blaster. Quickly drying them off on his sleeping trousers, he took a deep breath and tried to calm down. It wouldn't do for him to be all panicky when he was being counted on by his aunt and his uncle to help them. Biting down hard on his lower lip, he squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the task at hand. Now was the time for him to act like a man and make his uncle proud. He glanced over at Owen to see him looking through the macros and quickly taking cover.

At that moment, something whizzed by dangerously close to Luke's ear and struck the domed entrance to the house behind him. Simultaneously, the sound of a rifle shot echoed in the distance. Crouched behind the vaporator, Luke gasped. This was it.

Wiping his sweaty palms on his pant legs once more, he grasped the rifle and threw another glance in his uncle's direction. He watched as his uncle fired several shots into the night in an attempt to scare them off before ducking behind the power generator again as a volley of projectiles were fired in his direction. Luke took a deep breath and aimed at the desert floor. As his uncle had done, he fired several shots to frighten the approaching Raiders.

"Get back, Luke!" Owen cried.

Luke ducked behind the vaporator just in time to hear another volley of projectile shots scream by. Several of them struck the opposite side of the vaporator, and Luke cringed. He knew the machine was too thick and dense to allow anything to pass through, but it was still unnerving. He squeezed his eyes shut until the ricocheting sound of metal on metal ceased, and then looked back at his uncle.

"You hit?" Owen asked, fear evident in his usually stoic voice.

Luke shook his head, throat too dry to speak.

"This bunch isn't playing around," Owen called to his nephew. "This might get ugly."

Luke didn't miss the warning note in his uncle's voice, and he shuddered. Pushing the darker possibilities to the back of his mind, he tightened his grip on the blaster and fired another round of shots toward the band of Raiders that was now becoming slowly visible in the starlight as it approached. The dim light cast an eerie glow upon the robed and bandaged figures, making them seem more monstrous than they usually appeared by daylight. Like ghostly demons, they moved unwaveringly toward them, their facemasks seeming like ghoulish grins as they took sadistic pleasure in terrorizing their prey. Fighting against fear, Luke continued to fire and take cover; and a glance showed his uncle doing the same.

Still, the Tusken Raiders continued their approach.

An unearthly wail resounded in the night, one that made Luke's blood run cold. The wail was then picked up by the rest of the band of Raiders until it rose into a deafening clamor. Luke risked a glance toward the band of approaching Sandpeople and was startled to see them break into a charge. He shot his uncle a terrified look.

Owen swore. "Battle cry!" he yelled. "This is it, Luke! Aim to kill!"

Luke suddenly felt as if all the blood in his body had pooled in his feet. Lightheaded and lead-footed, he struggled to aim the blaster rifle that had unexpectedly grown heavy in his grasp. Biting back the swirling fear that threatened to overpower him, he focused on the charging band. He saw the windswept robes, the goggled eyes, the breath filters, and the gaderffi sticks aimed toward their farm in the dim light of the stars overhead. He saw the cloud of sand as it rose behind them, the Banthas that brought up the rear, and the riders seated on top of them as they urged the beasts forward. He saw his family's death and the destruction of their farm if he didn't act fast. Taking aim at the first Raider in the charge, he held his breath and fired.

The laser bolt Luke fired made contact a split second later, and the Raider went down in a heap. Luke's breath exploded from his lungs, followed by a wave of nausea, but he fought it back and continued to fire into the crowd of charging Sandpeople who had now crossed the farm's perimeter fence. At that moment, he seemed to become an automaton, a droid with only one task to accomplish. No feeling, no emotion. Two more shots were fired from his blaster, and two more Sandpeople fell. A fourth fell under Uncle Owen's aim, and Luke watched as he succeeded in wounding a fifth who continued to charge, the Raider firing his own rifle at the generator and the man taking cover behind it. Luke quickly shifted his aim and brought the charging Raider down before he could succeed in harming his uncle. The Raider collapsed only yards away from the generator, his dark blood staining the bleached desert sand. 

Targeting his blaster back on the remainder of the band, Luke saw that they were forming a retreat and collecting their fallen. Only one Bantha with rider seemed to be continuing the forward progress. Luke trained the blaster on the approaching Bantha as it entered the perimeter, preparing to fire. As he wiped away a bead of sweat that had managed to drip into his eye, he felt emotion begin to flood back into him. His blaster rifle started to tremble in his grasp, and he fought to keep it steady. Yet, even as he struggled to keep the Bantha and rider in his sights, something screamed within him not to fire. The strangely instinctive feeling forced him to lower the rifle to the ground and watch the Bantha's steady approach. 

Movement out of the corner of his eye alerted him to his uncle's attempt to bring down the rider. 

"No, wait!" Luke cried.

Owen spun toward him in shock and anger. "Luke, are you--"

"Please, just don't," he pleaded. He couldn't explain why, but he knew the approaching rider was no threat. 

Something in the boy's voice somehow managed to convince Owen to lower his weapon, and the two of them watched as the rider slowed only yards away. Without a sound, the rider reached down and hauled the last fallen Raider onto his mount and turned away. Urging the beast into the desert, he rode away behind the rest of the retreating band, a cloud of sand that obscured their horrific forms and the route their escape was taking.

Luke found himself unable to do anything but stare at the cloud they had stirred, pulse still racing and legs trembling with shock and spent adrenaline. His mouth and throat felt drier than the Dune Sea, and waves of nausea began to hit him as he strove to keep his composure. Already, he could feel it was a losing battle, but pride kept him staring into the desert night as he tried to collect himself. His vision blurred over for a moment and he blinked to clear it, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of tears clinging to his eyelashes. Was he crying? No, it was probably just a reaction to the sand particles. Or fatigue from straining to aim in the night.

Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to block out the images of the falling and dying Sandpeople. He had killed them. They had fallen because of him. This was no womp rat hunt; these were sentient, humanoid beings that had attacked with weapons and removed their dead from the battlefield when it was all over. 

"Luke?"

Uncle Owen's concerned voice had barely registered in Luke's consciousness when the boy doubled over and was uncontrollably sick. As his body revolted against the images in his mind and the truth behind them, he was vaguely aware of his uncle's large, callused hands gently rubbing his bare back. It seemed an eternity before his heaving subsided and Luke was able to rise shakily back to his feet, guilt ridden and ashamed of losing his struggle for control.

Averting his eyes from his uncle's concerned stare, he stammered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know--"

To his astonishment, Luke was cut off from saying anything more as he was pulled into a strong and unexpected embrace. 

"You did good, Luke," Owen said gently, patting his nephew's shoulder as he held him close. "I'm proud of you."

Luke blinked in confusion. "But I--"

"You did what you had to do, Luke," his uncle spoke softly. "It wasn't easy, but you did it." When Luke seemed about to protest, Owen added, "And if you didn't feel badly or guilty about the consequences of what you had to do, you wouldn't be the young man I've raised for fifteen years."

Luke felt his cheeks warm under his uncle's praise and his use of the term "young man." He could almost feel his uncle's pride radiating from him. "Thank you, sir."

Owen smiled back at his nephew before reaching down to pick up Luke's discarded blaster and steering him toward the house. "Let's get inside before your aunt thinks we've both been killed out here."

Luke nodded. There was a silence between them as they entered the dark and powerless house, until Luke ventured a question. "Are you going to tell her, Uncle Owen?"

"Tell her what, Luke?"

"That I killed four Sandpeople?" He was unable to keep the tremor out of his voice, and he still felt cold in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

Owen studied him for a moment before replying, "We'll wait on it."

It was hard to miss Luke's relieved sigh. He desperately did not want his aunt to know the horrible things he'd done, even if , as his uncle had said, he'd only done what he had to do. 

As if sensing Luke's continued distress over the matter, Owen pulled him toward the couch and pulled Luke down beside him as he sat down. "Luke, we've got a lot of work to do tomorrow repairing those two units out there. There's a lot of damage."

Luke nodded in the darkness. "I know."

"Now, we both need to get some sleep," his uncle continued, "but I know that you're not likely to get too much sleep tonight if I send you off to bed. Am I right?"

Again, Luke nodded.

"Now, you're probably not going to believe me when I tell you that I've been through exactly what you're going through right now. But I have, Luke. And I was a bit older than you, come to think of it."

"Did you throw up?" Luke asked in disbelief.

Owen laughed softly. "Did I! I was as sickened as you were, and had nightmares for weeks. And I'll expect you'll probably have them, too."

Luke groaned.

In response, Owen pulled the boy closer. "But it gets better, Luke. And, unfortunately, you learn to accept that sometimes you just have to do whatever it takes to defend yourself and the people you love. "

"I just wish killing wasn't part of it," Luke whispered.

Owen fell silent, and in the dark, traces of a satisfied smile mixed with the graciousness of an answered prayer could be seen on his face. When he spoke, it was in a husky whisper. "You have no idea how thankful I am to hear you say that, Luke."

Luke stared at his uncle in total bewilderment. In the darkness, it was hard to tell, but it looked like his eyes were somehow glistening in the dim light. But, in an instant, his uncle turned away and headed toward his aunt's bedroom.

"With the generator shot up like that, I won't risk turning the power on," he was saying as he moved. "So let's see if your aunt knows how to make some tea without it."

Luke watched his uncle go with a faint smile upon his face. Once more, fate had intervened to patch things up between himself and his uncle, and he was grateful for it. Growing up was proving to be a more difficult task than he ever thought it would, and he was fearful that the frequent mistakes he always seemed to make would cause permanent damages to his fragile family. So far, however, they hadn't. As he sat in the darkness awaiting his aunt's soothing tea, he hoped that his luck would hold out. After all, he wasn't going to let a few youthful mistakes ruin the bonds that had been formed between Owen, Beru, and himself. Thrown together by circumstances Luke was only beginning to piece together, they'd made themselves into a true family. And one day, when Luke was grown, they'd laugh about all of the silly things he'd done. 

Involuntarily, Luke shivered as he watched the silhouettes of his aunt and uncle in the darkness. For reasons unknown, he suddenly felt that fate had stranger plans in store. Feeling a coldness creep into his heart, he felt oddly fearful for their safety, and the discussion between his uncle and Kenobi crept unwillingly into his mind. Silently uttering a prayer, he vowed that he'd never let anything happen to them. They were all he had. All that mattered. Surely, the universe would never take them from him.


End file.
